To The West
by Elf Eye
Summary: Another in "The Nameless One" series. Set after "Elfling Retribution."
1. Apprenticed To Glorfindel!

**Anomen**** has recovered sufficiently from the fall he suffered in "Elfling Retribution" to set off on a new adventure.**

_Dragon Confused: _Something was buggy in fanfiction.net the day you posted that review.  I logged in but twice found myself inside somebody else's profile and had to exit and come back in again.  Probably if I had posted a review that day it would have shown up under somebody else's name.  Anyway, thank you for the kind review!

_Jebb__: Elrond has to put up with a lot, and it's not going to get any easier!_

_Farflung__: Oh, I am so glad you picked up on the tattoos!  Um, did you happen to notice that Anomen's fall parallels a real-life fall in the life of the actor who plays Legolas?  (Hopeful expression on author's face.)_

_Karri: _One sequel coming up.

_Dragonfly: _Yes, Anomen's 'punishment' was indeed an appropriate one.  Who flamed me?  I don't know—it was an unsigned review.  Again, I think it was just somebody who gets off on being abusive.  I didn't really take it as a legitimate response to the story.  As far as I can tell, the people who like these stories read them and sometimes respond in writing; the people who prefer different genres go elsewhere, but they don't abuse me because I'm not writing the stories they're interested in.  Fanfiction.net is a big place, with plenty of room for everyone's tastes.

            After so many days spent recovering from his fall, it felt odd to be out of bed and walking about.  Anomen took each step carefully as he made his way through the garden.  He paused under a tree and looked up into its branches.  Elrond had said no tree climbing for a while, but the canopy looked so very tempting.  He looked around.  No one was in sight.  He gazed once more into the canopy, opening and closing his hands as he thought of how the bark would feel upon his skin.  No.   He shook his head.  He'd had a lot of time to think whilst lying in the bed.  He was really, truly going to obey Elrond from now on.  And Glorfindel and Erestor.  And Mithrandir, too.  Although, he considered, Mithrandir didn't so much give him commands as obliquely hint that such and such a course of action may be a desirable one.

            From his vantage point standing by a window, Elrond smiled as he watched Anomen turn and walk slowly away from the tree.

            "I wouldn't celebrate too soon," said a voice in his ear.  "He's only been up for a day now."

            "Ah, Glorfindel, mellon-nîn, always the optimist," rejoined Elrond, turning about to greet the balrog-slayer.  "How went the training this day?"

            "Elladan and Elrohir's elfling archers are coming along rapidly now.  I almost wish that the twins would commit another transgression so that I could keep them on as archery instructors to those little ones."

            "I am sure that it would take very little encouragement for my sons to pull a prank of some sort."

            "I said, '_almost wish', Elrond."_

            Elrond laughed.  "Mayhap it will only be a _little prank, my friend."_

            Glorfindel rolled his eyes.  "With Anomen and the twins, there is no such thing as a 'little' prank!"

            Elrond nodded, but he still smiled.  "It may not sound rational to an old bachelor such as yourself, but a parent who has feared losing a child cherishes that child unreservedly once he recovers him.  In his relief, he takes joy in _all_ his child's doings, no matter how mischievous.  Had Anomen climbed that tree just now, my delight in his strength and agility would have outweighed my aggravation at his ignoring my instructions."

            Glorfindel shook his head disapprovingly.  "Do not the humans have a saying, 'Spare the rod and spoil the child'?  Too much indulgence is not a good thing for either manchild or elfling."

            "Do not fear, Glorfindel.  As the days pass, I will recover my equanimity and become as strict as always."

            "Oh, _that's a great consolation," said Glorfindel sarcastically.  In his eyes, Elrond at his strictest was never strict enough.  "But never mind.  I know that it is fruitless to discuss elf-rearing with you.  No, I am here to discuss a scouting mission.  I am troubled that Anomen sensed danger to the west.  Scamp though he may be, he reads the trees with uncanny accuracy.  I would like to journey westward, as far as the settlements of Bree-land to determine what this danger may be."_

            Glorfindel had the satisfaction of seeing a look of surprise flit across Elrond's face.  Elrond had known him for so long that he could usually anticipate his next move.  This time Glorfindel had taken him unawares.  The look of surprise vanished as quickly as it had appeared, however, and when Elrond spoke it was with his usual calmness.

            "To the west?  Ever has danger threatened us from the south and the east."

            "Aye, but mayhap the world is changing.  It would not do for us to be caught unawares by a threat from the west."

            "True.  Very well.  How many scouts do you plan to take?"

            "I will ride with only one companion."

            "Only one?"

            "I do not wish to attract attention.  An elven troop riding into Bree would create quite a stir."

            "Who will you take as your companion?"

            "Anomen."

            "What!?"

            Glorfindel chuckled.  He had surprised Elrond twice in one day.  Another Age might pass before he duplicated this feat.

            "Elrond, of all the Elves in Rivendell, Anomen has journeyed farthest and is most comfortable in unfamiliar settings.  He would be of great service to me on a journey such as this.  Moreover, a Man and his apprentice will draw no notice.  For that is how I plan to travel.  We will cover our ears and masquerade as a trader and his assistant.  No one will spare scrutiny for such innocuous travelers."

            "May I remind you that Anomen is not one of the "Elves in Rivendell"; he is in fact one of the _elflings in Rivendell.  We do not venture our elflings on dangerous missions."_

            "True, but it is Anomen's very youth that I plan to make use of.  Moreover, whatever lies to the west, it is a subtle danger.  No word has reached us of wargs or Orcs in that direction.  Yes, there are Trolls here and there along the road, but they are easily avoided or dealt with.  I will not be leading Anomen into any immediate peril.  I merely wish to determine if the Men to the west have been contacted by any evil force that may be seeking to corrupt them.  I go in search of information only and do not anticipate that there will be any cause for combat."

"You may not anticipate combat, but it may await you nonetheless."

"Elrond, I wish to stave off the need for such combat by learning well in advance if any in the west may be likely to turn ill-disposed toward us.  Any threat would not be realized until years, mayhap decades, into the future."

Elrond nodded reluctantly.  "I must agree with you there, but Anomen has only been up for a day.  Mayhap he lacks the stamina for such a journey."

"I do not set out at once.  I will spend at least a fortnight in the library with Erestor reviewing various of his maps.  Anomen will be ready.  And," Glorfindel teased, "with Anomen's penchant for wandering, wouldn't you rather have him under my eye than gallivanting about alone, as he will no doubt do if left to his own devices."

Elrond sighed.  "Very well, Glorfindel.  You may take Anomen.  But I will skin you if anything happens to him."

"Elrond!"  Glorfindel took mock offense.  "That is my line!"

"I will have your head!"

"Also my line," said Glorfindel calmly.

"I will make sure that you never have any elflings of your own!"

"I don't want any elflings of my own," replied Glorfindel, unperturbed.  "Your elflings are quite enough for me to deal with, thank you very much."  Glorfindel arose.  "Shall I send the scamp to you so that you may inform him of his mission?"

"Yes, Glorfindel.  Please do so."  Glorfindel turned to depart.

"Glorfindel!"

The balrog-slayer turned back.

"Yes, Elrond?"

"Have you given any thought as to how weapons training shall be conducted in your absence?"

"Oh," Glorfindel said airily, "Elladan and Elrohir forgot to put away the bows and quivers after yesterday's lesson.  That is worth at least another month, do you not agree?"

Elrond laughed heartily.  "I think you had better send the twins to me as well."

"Indeed, I was planning to!"  With that Glorfindel strode from the room.

A short while later three very nervous elflings approached the chamber hesitantly.  Glorfindel had assumed his most serious expression when informing the elflings that the Lord of Imladris wished to see them at once.

"I have only been up for one day," said Anomen.  "What could I have possibly done in such a short time?"

"You did not have to share our punishment," Elladan reminded him, "because you could not move from your bed.  Mayhap he will now assign you a task to make up for that."

"Oh, no," objected Anomen.  "Elrond said that I had been punished enough by my own efforts.  He said he could not think of any punishment more appropriate than my having to lie still for weeks and weeks."

By then the three had arrived at the door to Elrond's sanctum.  They stood silently outside it for several minutes.  At last Elrohir screwed up his courage and knocked upon it.

"Enter.  Ah, come in.  Be seated."

The elflings looked at each other.  Elrond seemed very genial—very genial for Elrond, anyway.  They sat and stared anxiously at the elf-lord.  Elrond decided this time not to torment them by forcing them to wait for clues as to his purpose in calling them to his chamber.  He would speak directly to the point.

"Elladan, Elrohir, I must tell you that Glorfindel is very pleased with the progress that the elflings have been making in archery.  Indeed, he is so pleased that he wishes you to continue as their teacher for a while longer.  This is not meant to be a punishment," Elrond added hastily as he saw the look of dismay that spread over the faces of the twins.  "Glorfindel is going on a journey.  In his absence, he needs someone to assume responsibility for the training of the elflings, and he is convinced that no one would do better than you two."

Elladan and Elrohir looked at each other, surprise and pride mingled in their expressions.   "Thank you, Ada," they declared simultaneously.

Elrohir smiled at twins and then turned his attention to Anomen.

"Anomen, Glorfindel also has a task that he wishes you to perform.  As you have journeyed in many lands, he wishes you to accompany him as he travels west on a reconnoitering mission."

Elladan and Elrohir felt as if they had been 'suckered'.  They had just thanked their father for assigning them to teach the littlest elflings for another month.  Anomen, however, had landed the plum assignment of a scouting mission with the balrog-slayer!  On the other hand, it _was_ a scouting mission with the balrog-slayer.  Mayhap Anomen would shortly regret that _he_ was not the one training elflings.  Both twins grinned impishly at Anomen.

As for Anomen, he hardly knew how to react.  It was not a punishment, and he did like to explore strange lands, but with Glorfindel?

"Um, thank you, Lord Elrond?"

Elladan and Elrohir burst out laughing.  They were sure they knew the reason for the hesitation in Anomen voice.  Their father quelled their mirth with one severe look.

"Anomen," he said kindly, "do not fear Glorfindel.  He has a fierce exterior, but I am sure you will find that he is a most considerate and careful master.  He will not let any harm come to you."

"Yes, Lord Elrond," said Anomen doubtfully.  It wasn't the harm that might come to him that concerned him; it was the harm Glorfindel himself might do!  He hoped that the balrog-slayer had truly forgiven the elflings for the unfortunate incident of the arrow in the elf-lord's backside.

Elrond gestured his dismissal of the elflings.  The three politely arose and bowed.

"You may be excused from your lessons with Erestor for the next fortnight," said the elf-lord in parting.  "A little break is in order, I believe, since you will be shortly taking on such great responsibilities.  You, Elladan and Elrohir, will have sole command of the elflings, with no elf-lord to superintend or assist you.  Anomen, you will undertake a strenuous journey into parts little frequented by Elves.  Stay well, my sons."


	2. A Lesson In Lying

A fortnight later Elladan and Elrohir shivered in the early morning cold as they bade farewell to Anomen.

"Be sure to come back in one piece," teased Elrohir.  "With your skin intact," he added.

"Yes," said Elladan, "but if you must lose any piece of your body, let it be your head—you make the least use of that part of your anatomy!"

"And you two watch your backs," Anomen rejoined.  "Don't let any elflings use you as a target!"

"Hmph," muttered Glorfindel.  Anomen paled.  Perhaps he should not have put the balrog-slayer in mind of that unfortunate incident.  Now mayhap he would have to watch his own backside.

The elf-lord reined his horse about, and the two companions rode away from Rivendell, Anomen maintaining a respectful distance behind the balrog-slayer and leading their pack horse.  When the path widened, however, Glorfindel gestured that Anomen should ride alongside him.  With trepidation, Anomen moved up.  The two rode in silence for awhile.  At last Glorfindel spoke.

"Those birds there, are you familiar with them?"

Anomen peered up at the dark figures that circled overhead.

"My Lord, they are crebain out of Dunland!"

"Have you ever known crebain to fly so far north?"

"No, my Lord."

Said Glorfindel to himself, "Odd that they should leave their homeland; they are uncommon even in the adjacent territory of Eregion.  I shall have to mention this to Elrond."

They rode on, Glorfindel saying nothing more until they came to the Ford of Bruinen.  "This river marks the eastern boundary of Imladris.  When we cross it, we will be Elves no longer.  I will be a trader amongst Men and you the boy who serves me as an apprentice."

Now Anomen understood why they carried no bows and Glorfindel only a short sword, he a dagger.  "Yes, my Lord," he replied respectfully.

"Do not address me as your Lord.  You must become accustomed to referring to me as your 'Master'.  Remember," he warned, "I am no lord, and you are my apprentice."

"Yes, my—Master."

"If anyone asks you my name, tell them that I am called 'Harry Gold'.  And as for your name, you will be 'Leif Anomenson'.  Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master Gold."

"Good.  Take out you braids and let your hair cover your ears."

Anomen did so.  His hair had not entirely grown in from the haircut Elladan and Elrohir had given him, but it was long enough.  Glorfindel took out his braids as well.

"Now, for good measure, pull up your hood."

Again Anomen complied.  Glorfindel surveyed him and at last pronounced himself satisfied.  "I do not think you will provoke any second looks when we come to the lands of Men.  You look like one of their young ones, a boy not yet old enough to grow a beard.  Of course," he added teasingly, "the masquerade might be helped if we rubbed a little dirt into your face.  No, do not fear; I am only joking," he added quickly at the expression of horror on Anomen's face.  "Although," he said with mock sternness, "sometimes a warrior may need to make sacrifices, such as dirtying his face for the sake of camouflaging himself.  Well, perhaps later."

They forded the river and journeyed on, following the Great East Road, as Men call it.  In those days there was still a fair amount of traffic on this road, for the Men in the lands west of Rivendell had not dwindled as much as they had by the end of the Third Age.  Soon after they had crossed the Bridge of Mitheithel, or the Last Bridge in the speech of Men, they came upon an encampment of traders who were journeying together toward Bree-land for the sake of both companionship and security.  A few Men came out to the road and hailed them.  Glorfindel and Anomen dismounted.

"Leif, mayhap we will join this company.  I shall speak with these Men."

"Yes, Master Gold."

With that Glorfindel walked off toward the campfire in amiable conversation with the traders.  Anomen stood patiently by their horses.  A handful of boys clustered round and stared openly at him, their eyes both appraising and challenging the newcomer.  He stared back at them, refusing to be intimidated but not knowing whether—or even how—he should address them.  Anomen had never exchanged words with the young of Men.  He had seen boys when he had been dragged bound into the Dunlending settlement, but he had not spoken to them, and they had only jeered at him.

After awhile, finding no sport in Anomen, the boys drifted away and began to compete against one another in footraces.  Anomen watched, longing to join in.  Elladan, Elrohir, and he had often raced against one another on the paths around Rivendell.

At last Glorfindel returned.  "We will indeed journey onward with this band of traders.  I shall be able to gather a bit of gossip that way, and we will be all the more inconspicuous when we enter the village of Bree.  Come, let us turn the horses out to pasture."

They unburdened their horses and led them toward a meadow where other horses grazed.  Apologizing softly, they put the horses on pickets.  Elven horses do not need to be restrained, but Glorfindel wished to act like a Man in every way possible lest he attract attention.  Knowing that it was needful, the horses suffered the indignity with forebearance.

After they had seen to the horses, they returned to the camp and laid out their bedrolls and cooking gear.  Then Glorfindel nodded toward the boys who were still racing one another.  "The apprentices are making the most of their leisure time; you must do likewise."

Eagerly Anomen hurried over to the starting line.  The other boys looked at him but said nothing.  Anomen likewise said nothing.

"One, two, three, go!" shouted a Man, one of the onlookers.

Anomen sprang forward determined to win acceptance by making his mark as a runner.  He flew down the path and reached the finish line several lengths ahead of any of the other runners.  With his elven speed, he had easily outpaced even the oldest and biggest of the boys.  He turned about triumphantly.  To his surprise, the friendliest face he saw was impassive.  Most of the faces were angry and suspicious.

Puzzled, Anomen returned to the line and tried again, putting all his heart into the race.  He finished even further ahead than before, but the results were the same: hostile and wary faces.  Glorfindel beckoned him over.

"Lose the next race," hissed Glorfindel.  "You are attracting attention—and provoking resentment, too, I might add."

Obediently, Anomen returned to the line prepared to lose.  As it turned out, losing took no effort on his part, for he had hardly run three yards before one of the boys deliberately tripped him.  He sprawled face first onto the ground.  A roar of laughter arose from the onlookers.  His face dirty and flushed, he arose and returned to Glorfindel, who made a great show of cuffing his head.

"Clumsy oaf he is," explained 'Harry Gold' to the onlookers.  "Runs heedlessly.  Always win the first few races that way, but is ever tripped up in the end."  More laughter.  Anomen was sure that his face had gone from red to scarlet.

  After the boys had tired of footraces, they began to wrestle.  Anomen refrained from joining in, but after a while Glorfindel whispered that he was now attracting attention by holding himself apart from the other boys.  Anomen groaned.  He suspected that Glorfindel was enjoying his dilemma.

"I suppose I am not to defeat my opponent," he said gloomily.

"Defeat any opponent who is smaller than you, as would be expected, but lose to any larger ones."

Anomen nodded resignedly and stepped toward the struggling boys.  The one who had tripped him leaped toward him at once.  Anomen looked him over.  They were of a size.  Glorfindel had said to defeat smaller ones but lose to bigger ones.  What was he to do if his opponent matched him in height and weight?  He decided that the onlookers would be surprised neither by his winning nor his losing—so he was going to win!  Eagerly he entered into a clinch with the youth and within seconds he had thrown and pinned him.  A murmur arose from the crowd.  Anomen looked toward Glorfindel.  The elf-lord was frowning and shaking his head.  Ai!  He had defeated his opponent too rapidly!  He reached down a hand and helped the boy to his feet.

"'Twasn't a fair fight," Anomen said.  "You slipped.  Let us try again."

The boy looked surprised but then smiled and nodded.  They circled each other warily for some minutes and then the boy sprang forward.  Anomen evaded his grasp but just barely, and the crowd murmured appreciatively.  The boy sprang forward again, and this time Anomen let him gain the advantage.  They pushed back and forth for several minutes until at last Anomen decided to let the boy throw him.  Down he went on his face again, the boy straddling him.  The onlookers cheered.  After a minute the boy let Anomen up.  He grinned at him in a friendly fashion.  Anomen grinned back and then returned to Glorfindel's side.

"Well done," said the balrog-slayer.  "And I see that your face has picked up some more dirt.  You look more and more like a human as each day passes.  Excellent."

"I will wash at the first opportunity," said Anomen hastily.

"Oh, no you won't!" replied a smirking Glorfindel.

"He _is enjoying this," thought Anomen mournfully._

The next morning the company broke camp and journeyed without incident until nightfall.  Glorfindel rode with the Men and made himself quite popular by telling tales of the Elven lands he had visited.  Few of the Men had dealt with Elves, although many traded with Dwarves

"Odd creatures Elves be," said 'Harry Gold'.  "Do you know that there be Elves that store their gold in pots at the ends of rainbows?"

"No!"

"Aye, they do.  And there be some Elves that are _green."_

"You mean their clothes?"

"No, their _skin."_

"Truly?"

"Truly," deadpanned Glorfindel.  "And there be tiny Elves that have wings like dragonflies.  They flitter and flutter about.  And those Elves scatter a sort of sparkling dust that'll bewitch ye if it fall upon ye."

"And you have seen these Elves?"

"I have seen every sort of Elf there be," answered Glorfindel—a truthful answer it may be noted, but not one that spoke to the question.

"Be there any other sorts of Elves?"

"Aye, there be some that dwell underground.  The entrances to their domains are in mounds—look like the burial mounds of old.  Once a year the entrances open.  Should you have the good luck—or mayhap the ill luck—to slip inside, it will seem to you that you pass a year of jollity.  But when the mound opens and you return to the world of Men, you'll find that centuries have passed.  You'll have a beard that reaches to your knees, and all your kin will be long gone."

The Men shuddered.

"And have you never seen rings of mushrooms in the forest—perfect circles but described by toadstools?"

"Aye, we have," said one Man.

"Those are Elven rings.  They mark the spots where the Fair Folk dance and make merry."

"They are truly a queer folk, these Elves," observed another trader.

"Aye, that they are," replied Glorfindel, his face perfectly straight.

Anomen heard none of these tales, for he rode with the boys who tended the pack horses.  After his missteps the previous day, he gradually established himself amongst these urchins by his willingness to lend a hand at such tasks as gathering wood and hauling water.  That evening, after all the chores had been completed and the boys once again gathered to test themselves against one another, Anomen was careful to win no races.  He would allow himself to come in ahead of the smaller boys, but outpaced none of the larger and older ones.  Likewise, when it came to wrestling, he threw no one larger than he.  As for the boy who was of a size with him, sometimes he threw him, sometimes he didn't.  The boys and their masters were quite satisfied, and no more angry and suspicious glances came his way.  Glorfindel, too, was pleased.

"Sometimes, Leif, one must dissemble to achieve one's goal."

"But dissembling is a sort of lying."

"Aye.  And lying, like archery and swordsmanship, is a skill that is needful if one is to survive.  Someday you will kill a Man.  We do not like to kill, but it is a skill that we teach and practice because we sometimes need to slay a foe to protect ourselves and our kin.  Lying, too, is a survival skill."

Anomen nodded thoughtfully.  It was not good to lie to Elrond or Glorfindel because he did not need to do so to survive.  But lying under other circumstances, such as to gather information vital for the defense of Imladris, that was allowable.

They journeyed on in this fashion for several days.  Scarcely anything more of note happened before they arrived at the gates of Bree.  The only exception?  When they came abreast a hill that Erestor's maps marked as 'Weathertop', they spied a thin spiral of smoke coming from its crest.

"Odd," muttered Glorfindel.  "No trader would have reason to leave the road and cross the rough terrain 'tween here and Weathertop.  I wonder who has lit that fire."

It would not be too very long before they would learn the answer to that question.          


	3. Beer And Milk

**Kudos to _Kitsune_, _Farflung_, _Joee_, and _Karri for noticing that I had gotten the names mixed up.  As _Farflung_ wrote, "Too many E names in this family."_**

_Karri: _I'm glad you liked the 'elf' lore.

_Dragonfly: _The experience could bring them together—or it could scar Anomen for the rest of his eternal life!

_Ky_: _Yes, I think Anomen on at least some occasions would find the company of Orcs preferable to Glorfindel's.  You are correct about Anomen using the lesson about lying in the future.  The subject of lying will come up again once Estel joins Elrond's household._

_Raven: _Tolkien never says that the Glorfindel in _The Silmarillion_ is the same as the Glorfindel in _The Fellowship of the Ring.  On the other hand, he never says that they are __not identical.  Anything not banned outright is permitted, right?  Seriously, a number of fanfiction writers in the Tolkien fandom have adopted the convention of identifying the two.  I'm following that convention because I think having Rivendell's Glorfindel be the balrog-slayer makes him an intimidating figure to poor little elflings like Anomen.  Makes for a lot of fun._

_Jebb__: Yes, I think trouble can be guaranteed.  The only question is what form it will take._

_Konzen__:  Yes, if I were Anomen, I would definitely feel hesitant about going on a journey with Glorfindel._

_Farflung__:  I went back to see ROTK.  I liked it a little better the second time.  Of the three movies, however, TTT is definitely my favorite._

Anomen's first view of Bree was not a very encouraging one.  They arrived late one night in a driving rain, and the Men who were out and about at that time and in that weather perhaps were not the village's most respectable citizens.  However, the people may have seemed more fearsome to the elfling than they truly were.  At one point Anomen was sure that he had caught sight of a Troll gnawing on a bone, but as he and Glorfindel drew nearer, this bearded apparition proved to instead be chomping a carrot, an item most unlikely to tempt the appetite of a Troll.

Glorfindel was searching for a particular lodging, one recommended by a trader from whom they had just parted.  After wandering up and down the streets a little while and inquiring of several gentlemen who, alas, proved to be inebriated and therefore incapable of giving directions, the two Elves at last stumbled upon their destination, a building marked by a swinging board upon which was painted the image of a stolid horse accompanied by the words "THE PLODDING PLOUGHHORSE by FARTHINGTALE FARMER."  Glorfindel pushed open the door and they entered a place that was bright, smoky, noisy, and crowded.  They approached a counter where stood a Man, no doubt the owner, eyeing them up and down.

 "And what can I do for you, Master…?"  The proprietor paused expectantly.

"Master Gold.  Harry Gold.  I am a trader in jewelry findings.  I carry a few finished pieces as well.  And this is my apprentice, Leif Anomenson."

"What may I do for you and your boy, Master Gold?"

"We would like somewhat to eat and drink as well as a room for the night."

"Very well, sir.  Would you like to eat in the common room, or would you prefer to sup in your chamber?"

"Oh, the common room, to be sure."

"If you will follow me, then."  Off Master Farmer bustled, and he showed Glorfindel and Anomen to a table in a room packed with Men and other, smaller folk—Hobbits no doubt.  Anomen looked about nervously.  He had never been in the presence of so many Men.

 "We came for news, and we will not get it by dining in our room," said Glorfindel, who had noticed Anomen's nervousness.

Crowded though the place might have been, it was not long before their most immediate need—thirst—was attended to.  "Bartholomew Butterbur!" bellowed the proprietor.  "A couple of beers for these customers, and look sharp!"

Said Bartholomew hurried over with two mugs of beer which he banged down on the table before breathlessly rushing off to answer another summons.  Anomen's mouth was very dry, and he took a hasty gulp.  He spluttered.  "What is this foul brew!?" he gasped.

"It is popular amongst Men and Dwarves," said Glorfindel composedly.  "However, as you are a boy and not a Man, mayhap you could drink something else without exciting comment."   The elf-lord signaled to Bartholomew, who hurried back over, wiping his hands on his apron.

"It seems that this beer is too strong for the boy.  Mayhap you have something more suitable for a young one."

"Aye, that I do."  In a trice Bartholomew returned with a beaker filled with a white liquid.  "Here ye be," he said beaming, and thumped the vessel down upon the board before hurrying off to another customer who beckoned him.

Anomen gazed doubtfully at the beaker.  "What is that beverage?"

"I believe it is called 'milk'.  Men procure it from cattle."

Anomen stared in horror at the stuff.  "A liquid that comes from cows!?  And I am to drink it!?"

"I think," Glorfindel said calmly, "that we will begin to attract attention if you do not begin to consume that which is placed before you.  Moreover, you have no memory of this, but once, when you were a newborn elfling, you did indeed drink milk—although it was not procured from cows!"

"Whence came it then?"

 "You should ask Erestor about that when we return to Rivendell."  Glorfindel smirked.  "Oh, yes, Erestor will no doubt welcome such a query.  But, now, drink up!"

Reluctantly Anomen lifted the beaker and sipped from it.  After a few mouthfuls, he decided that it was not really so bad after all—certainly not as distasteful as beer!  There was a certain sweetness to it.  Before too long he had drained the last drop, and he replaced the beaker upon the table.  Glorfindel looked reprovingly at him.

"Leif, you do not have to adopt all the customs of humans."

"What have I done, Master Gold?"

"You look as if you have sprouted a mustache of milk.  Wipe your face at once!"

Hastily Anomen seized a napkin and wiped his mouth.  For good measure, when Glorfindel was not looking, he tried to rub off some of the grime that still remained from his contests with the other apprentices.

By and by Bartholomew Butterbur bustled once again to their table.

"We've got coldmuttoncoldhamhotmeatpieshotfruitpiesbreadcheese'n'clotted cream.  Will that do?"

Glorfindel said that the menu pleased him exceedingly.  Bartholomew smiled with pleasure and pride.

"And whilst you eat, I'll see that Peter puts your room in order.  Hey, Peter, son of Jack, get your plump self over here and earn your supper!"

Peter, son of Jack, came scurrying over.  He was indeed plump.  Short as well.  He sported a beard like a dwarf, but Anomen thought he looked more than half a Hobbit.

"Hey," spluttered Bartholomew indignantly, "where be your shoes!?  You know that the master said you warn't to go barefoot like a Hobbit anymore.  And must you always wear the same jacket!?  Oh, never mind," he continued, without giving Peter a chance to reply.  "Here's the key to these gentlemen's room.  Lay a fire and see that everything is set to rights well before they make ready to retire."

Peter scurried off.

"Has a head full of fancies, that lad does.  Trolls, goblins, talking trees—that's the sort of currency he pays out in his speech.  Truth be told, however, the master actually likes to keep him about for that very reason.  His tales bring in many a paying customer.  Why, the other innkeepers hereabout would give their eyeteeth to engage his services.  Was one proprietor hired him for a time but let him go because he thought the lad was too fanciful.  He's probably kicking himself black and blue now he sees how the folks flock into this establishment!  But it is not my talk that you be wanting but your dinner no doubt."  Bartholomew turned to hasten to the kitchen.

"Nay, stop a minute, Master Butterbur.  We would be glad of news as well as supper.  This boy here is tired, so we will soon go up to our chamber, but when things have settled a bit in the common room, pour yourself a pint at our expense and come up and share our fire for a bit."

Bartholomew beamed.  "Glad to, Master Gold, glad to."

In short order cheese, clotted cream, bread, and hot pies and cold meats had been placed before the two Elves, who fell to eagerly.  Even Glorfindel did not try to disguise his very real hunger.  At last satisfied, they both sat back with a sigh.  Anomen yawned.

"Well," said Glorfindel jovially.  "I spoke the truth to Butterbur.  You are tired.  Let us go up to our room so that you may sleep.  Things are settling down here, and no doubt Butterbur will be up soon to have a chat with me.  You needn't stay awake, however."

The two arose and mounted the steps to their room, which was a small but pleasant chamber.  Anomen flung himself onto the bed nearest the window.  Glorfindel looked sharply at him and went to look out the window.  No trellis.  Glorfindel relaxed.

"Leif, cast your blanket over your head."

"Why, Master Gold?"

"Men sleep with their eyes closed.  It would not do for Butterbur to see you dreaming with your eyes open."

"Oh, of course."

Anomen pulled the blanket over his head and was almost immediately asleep.  Hence he did not hear any of the conversation between Butterbur and Glorfindel, which, considering how things turned out, was a great pity.

A little after midnight Glorfindel heard a knock on the door and arose to admit Butterbur, who had a mug in each hand.

"Thought you might want a nightcap," he said, handing one mug to Glorfindel.

"Thank you, Master Butterbur.  Thank you indeed."

Butterbur mended the fire, the two sat before it, their feet on the fender, and Glorfindel encouraged Butterbur to talk.  Had Anomen been listening, he would have marveled at the balrog-slayer's patience, for it took a very long time before he could guide the conversation to the topic of strangers or untoward happenings.  First, for example, Glorfindel had to listen with great interest—or the appearance of it, anyway—as Bartholomew Butterbur waxed eloquent on the subject of the innkeeper's daughter and how she fancied him and he fancied her and her father had no objection because the old Man wanted to retire and had no male heir to whom he could entrust the establishment and how he meant to change the name of the inn once he took possession—"'Prancing Pony' would do nicely, I think"—and so on and so forth and _ad infinitum_ and _ad nauseum _and _etcetera_, _etcetera, __etcetera.  By and by, however, Butterbur began to recite such news as Glorfindel wished to hear. _

"There are several who have been keeping company with nasty-looking strangers.  There's Hugo the Smith for one."

"Hugo the Smith?"

"Aye.  Used to be Hugo the Weaver, but he wearied of that craft and so turned his hand to smithing.  Regular agent of evil, he is, and he seems to be multiplying.  First one agent of evil, next you know there's another one and another and another."

"These other ones, tell me of them."

"Bræd, the dour Reeve, for one.  No Reeve is a happy one, but this one is dour in the extreme.  But he's met his match in Andrew, late of the Circus."

"Late of the Circus?"

"Aye, band of entertainers, but the ringmaster cast him out.  Odd sort of fellow he is.  Sits in the corner talking to himself as if there were two of him! 'What have we done to deserve to be cast out?' says one of him, and then the other will reply, 'Nothing! Nothing at all.  We'll get our own back, oh, yes, we will!'  That's a sample of his speech—very tiresome it is, I can assure you!"

"Any others?"

"Let me see—oh, yes, there be Will Ferny, truly an ill-favored sort.  Lives in an unkempt house on the edge of Bree.  Supports himself by selling unwitting travelers a pony that he has trained to bolt back to him after the space of a day—although why any pony should return to the rascal is a mystery, for he keeps the poor beast half-starved."

"So four at the least.  But this may be only the beginning," said Glorfindel to himself.  Aloud he said, "You say that they keep company with strangers.  Know you aught of them."

"Well, now," said Butterbur, who prided himself on his cleverness, "if I did, then they wouldn't be strangers, would they?"

Glorfindel laughed at the joke but then said, "So your sharp eyes have noticed nothing about these Men."

Butterbur took the bait.  "They dress like Men hereabouts, but, judging from their speech, that is just for show—and right off that made me uneasy.  'Bartholomew', says I, 'why would they go to the trouble of disguising their appearance unless they were up to no good?'"

"That was very wise of you," said Glorfindel gravely.

Butterbur nodded sagely.

"So where do you think they come from?"

"Their accent was of a southern realm, of that I am sure.  Some do say"—here Butterbur glanced about and lowered his voice—"some do say that they are Southrons."

"And what is your opinion, Master Butterbur?"

"I think that they are indeed of that cursed land of Harad.  I says to the master, says I, 'We ought to get into the habit of barring the doors each night, that we should.'  And he says to me, the master does, he says to me, 'I leave it up to your discretion, Butterbur.  I trust your judgment that much, I do'."

"I think you are right to insist that henceforth the doors be barred.  Are there many of these strangers?"

"So far only three have come into the village, but I misdoubt that many more lurk about."

"What makes you believe that, Master Butterbur."

"They have been buying much more in the way of provisions than any three Men could eat."

"You are truly a careful and thoughtful observer, Master Butterbur," said Glorfindel, and he uttered this compliment with all sincerity.  It was beginning to dawn upon him that, whatever his outward manner, very little of importance escaped the attention of Bartholomew Butterbur.

"Where do you think the others are hiding, Master Butterbur?"

The Man shook his head.  "As to that, I cannot venture a guess.  A townsman I am and always have been.  I know not enough about the wild to know where one might hide."

"It is wisdom to know what one does not know, Mr. Butterbur."

"Thankee, Master Gold.  Well, it is getting on toward dawn.  We both of us need our sleep, no doubt."  Butterbur arose and picked up the two mugs.  "A good night to you, Master Gold."

"And to you, Master Butterbur."

After the Man had departed, Glorfindel sat for a spell thinking over what he had learned—and what he had not learned.  Above all, he needed to find the encampment of these Southrons—for so he believed them to be.  

Glorfindel remembered the smoke arising from Weathertop.  That hill would make an excellent rendezvous point for Southron spies.  It was easy to find and provided a commanding view of the comings and goings on the Great East Road.  Yes, Weathertop was a place that would bear visiting.  He did not wish to bring along Anomen on such a mission, however.  Well, tomorrow he would make arrangements for his safekeeping.  Butterbur seemed to have a lot to do.  He certainly would be able to make use of an extra skivvy for a few days, someone to haul water and fetch wood in exchange for nothing more than room and board.  Glorfindel grinned as he imagined the look on Anomen's face when the elfling learned that his next assignment would be to assist the assistant to an innkeeper.  No doubt he would have to sternly remind the elfling that his 'sufferings'—as Anomen would no doubt dub them—would be for the good of Imladris.  Oh, yes, tomorrow would afford some amusement.

Smiling at the thought of the morrow's conversation with Anomen, Glorfindel at last turned in.


	4. Chamber Pots

**Folks, remember to keep an eye on the genealogy of characters so you don't confuse one character with another.**

_Kitsune__: Yes, Glorfindel does delight in bedeviling Anomen, but he really does care for him and would be devastated if anything happened to him.  Just imagine that Glorfindel has an inner elfling that manifests itself in tormenting Anomen.  Yeah, that's it.  Glorfindel has never really grown up.  Hmm.  I've got to have a tale set in the present (so to speak) in which Glorfindel plays a trick on Elrond._

_Jebb__: Humiliation, eh?  You ain't seen nothin' yet!  But the humiliation will indeed soon be replaced by adventure._

_Farflung__: Yes, I had way too much fun writing the previous chapter.  About Bræd the dour Reeve—he equals Brad Dourif, the actor who plays Gríma Wormtongue.  I guess that was a bit of a stretch.  Yes, once Glorfindel is out of the picture, Anomen is bound to get into trouble.  (Of course, even __with Glorfindel in the picture, Anomen would get into trouble, wouldn't he?)  About killing a Man: that takes place in "Novices No Longer," which is set later.  __Ky__ is right.  I really need to use my profile as a place to list the entire sequence._

_Dragonfly: _I'm looking forward to seeing the _Calcium Kid_, in which Orlando Bloom plays a milkman who boxes.  Are you familiar with the milk ads that show celebrities with milk mustaches?  Maybe I should write to the Milk Board and suggest that they shoot one with Legolas or Orlando Bloom.  Sales of milk would go through the roof.  About Glorfindel:  I wouldn't worry about him.  You'll find out why in this chapter.

_Karri:  _Oh, goody.  You got Hugo Weaving/Smith, the multiplying agent of evil!

The next morning Glorfindel arose early to go downstairs to see about breakfast.  "You stay here until I return," he ordered Anomen.

"As you wish, Master Gold.  I'll just tidy up a bit."

"Aye, tidy up the room—but don't wash your face!"  Glorfindel turned away to hide his grin.

When Glorfindel arrived in the common room, he saw at once that several new guests must have arrived after he and Anomen had retired the previous night.  One of them in particular caught Glorfindel's eye—a long-legged, scruffy sort, hair tangled, boots muddy, cloak stained.  He sat in a corner by himself, smoking a long pipe.

Glorfindel beckoned to Bartholomew Butterbur, who as usual, beamed at him.

"Good morning to ye, Master Gold.  And what may I do for you?"

"The boy and I will break fast in our chamber this morning, so I would be obliged if you'd send up some food and drink."

"Aye, that I will.  Milk again for the lad?"

"Aye, milk."  Glorfindel smiled and wondered how long it would take Anomen to warm up to the taste of beer.

"Anything else, Master Gold?"

"One more thing—but I hesitate to ask it."

"Oh, pray do, Master Gold," replied the ebullient hosteller.  "I pride myself on giving satisfaction, I do!"

"Very well.  I have a mind to try my hand at trading amongst some of the more renote villages, but I hesitate to bring the boy on such a venture.  If my overtures are not favorably met, I may have to beat a hasty retreat, and the boy may hinder me."

 "Ah," said Master Butterbur wisely.  "You wish to board him."

"That I do.  But I also wish to keep him out of trouble.  You know what is said of idle hands?"

"Oh, I do!  I do!  'Idle hands are the Dark Lord's instrument'."

"Indeed.  He is a useful sort of a boy, and I had hoped you could keep him busy.  He can fetch wood, make and mend fires, sweep, haul water, scour pans—any number of chores he could do.  Oh, yes, and empty chamber pots.  He's very good at emptying chamber pots.  Positively thrives on it, really."

"Well, Master Gold, it sounds to me as if the boy could work off both his room and his board, no charge to you.  But I fear I cannot let him stay alone in that chamber.  I'll have to let it out again."

"Oh, a corner in the kitchen will do.  He's used to sleeping rough.

"Nay, I can provide better than that for the lad.  I'll put down a pallet in my own room."

Glorfindel was delighted.  This meant that Anomen would always be under the eye of Master Butterbur.  No absconding this time!

"You are most kind, Master Butterbur.  I am greatly in your debt."

"Not at all!  Not at all!  Ah, but there is one thing, Master Gold."

"Yes?"

"It embarrasses me to mention this, but, ah, we pride ourselves on running a first-class ee-sta-blish-ment!  Uh, your lad, well, he's a trifle grubbier than we like to see in a servant.  Do you suppose you could have him wash his face?"

"Ah, yes," said Glorfidel gravely.  "He's your typical boy—hates to bathe."

Butterbur nodded sympathetically.

"But I will instruct him to wash his face and henceforth to bathe regularly."

"Thankee, Master Gold.  Thankee."

"I now have one last favor to ask of you."

Butterbur looked at him expectantly.

"I shall need a guide to lead me through the parts into which I intend to travel.  That gentleman over there," Glorfindel continued, gesturing at the scruffy Man smoking alone in the corner, "would you be so kind as to show him up to our room.  Tell him that there is a breakfast in it for him."

Butterbur stared dubiously at the 'gentleman' to whom Glorfindel had gestured.

"_That fellow!?"_

"Aye," said Glorfindel calmly.  "Know you aught of him?"

"Goes by the name of Longshanks—a rough sort by all accounts.  A man of the north.  Spends his days roaming the wild lands."

"Exactly," said Glorfindel.  "He is just the sort of Man who would be acquainted with the regions into which I plan to travel."

"We-ell," said Butterbur, "you know your own business, I suppose, and I'll do as you wish.  But now I am quite glad that the lad will remain here with me!"

Reluctantly—and slowly for once!—Butterbur approached the Man.  Bending down, the hosteller spoke into the Man's ear.  The stranger looked over toward Glorfindel and nodded.

Glorfindel arose and mounted the steps to their chamber.  As he opened the door, he saw Anomen standing by the window.

"Here, you, get away from that window!"  Glorfindel hated to see Anomen anywhere near a window, even one on the second floor with no trellis at hand.

"Breakfast will be up shortly.  When it does, you shall have to eat standing."

"Why?  There are two chairs."

"And both of them will be occupied."

"Is Master Butterbur joining us?"

"No."

Anomen waited for Glorfindel to say more.  When he did not, the elfling sighed.  Glorfindel had been jovial last night as they ate in the common room, but he had returned to himself this morning.

Butterbur knocked on the door and entered bearing a laden tray.  In the midst of the food sat three plates and three mugs, one of which, Anomen noticed, contained milk.

"Your guest will be up directly, Master Gold.  Will there be anything else?"

"No, thank you, Master Butterbur.  I'll send the boy down if anything becomes needful."

"Very well, sir."

Almost immediately another knock was heard.  Glorfindel crossed the room and opened the door to admit the Man.  Anomen cried out in surprise.

"Aragorn son of Aravir!"

It was indeed the Ranger who had helped Anomen when he had been injured so badly by his fall in the Misty Mountains.

"He goes by the name of Longshanks in these parts, Leif, so do not again utter that name outside this room until we are safely back in Rivendell."

"Yes, Master Gold."

"Now lay the table."

Quickly Anomen set the table for two and then perched on the edge of his bed, balancing his plate on his knees, to eat his own breakfast.  He listened eagerly as the elf-lord and the Ranger discussed the Southron incursion.

"Weathertop, you say?  Rangers frequent that hill, Glorfindel.  Mayhap one was there that day."

"Do you think that likely?" said Glorfindel.

"No," admitted Aragorn.  "A Ranger would not be so foolish as to allow a plume of smoke to drift above his camp."

"Then we must go to Weathertop."

"Aye, but not by the Road.  I will lead you by hidden ways so that we may come upon the hill unseen.  There are three Southrons at least, but by Butterbur's account, there may be many more.  We must take them by surprise.  For all we know, we may be two against a score or more."

"Three!" interrupted Anomen indignantly.

Glorfindel frowned at him.  "You are not going."

"Why may I not accompany you, Glorfindel?" protested Anomen.

"When we find the Southrons, I am not sure what will happen, but it is probable that a skirmish will ensue.  I promised Elrond that I would not lead you into battle, and I mean to keep my promise."

"But where am I to stay!?  What am I to do!?"

"You will stay at the inn, although not in this room.  I have asked Butterbur to take you under his wing until I have returned.  You will have to work for your keep, but it is nothing you cannot do.  Sweeping, scouring, toting wood, hauling water, making and mending fires.  Oh, yes, and emptying chamber pots."

It was all Anomen could do to keep from grinding his teeth.

"One more thing, Leif."

Anomen groaned.  Now what!?

"Master Butterbur says that you are much too dirty.  Wash you face."

Anomen was caught between rage and relief.

"Oh, and Anomen."

"Yes, Master Gold?"

"Do not even think of running off to follow after us.  If you do not obey, I shall ask Mithrandir to exchange your hands for your feet!"


	5. The Letters

_Websterans__: Thank you.  Unfortunately, sometimes I write __too fast and make mistakes.  Fortunately, I have readers who alert me when that happens!_

_Ky_: _Yep, the people in Bree are not the most imaginative, but since moi, the author, is pulling the strings, I guess I'm the one ultimately responsible.  (Blushes at having too obviously recycled a name.)_

_MoroTheWoldGod__: I had a lot of fun with Hugo Weaving/Agent Smith.  I'm glad you enjoyed him as well._

_Daw__: Yes, Glorfindel does seem to take delight in teasing/tormenting Anomen._

_Reviewer (no name listed): _Yes, Glorfindel is going to get his comeuppance in this story.  He does indeed have something to learn.

_dd9736: _Glorfindel is indeed "on his toes," but even an elf-lord can trip and stumble.

_Dragonfly: _Yes, if Elladan and Elrohir knew what was going on, they would probably be giving huge sighs of relief right now at having escaped this assignment.  Glorfindel _is_ very good at teasing/tormenting Anomen.  I'll bet Glorfindel was a holy terror when he was an elfling.  I really have to do something with his character.  He deserves his own series.  But I'd better keep on with Anomen for awhile because I think if I try to stop some of you guys may come after me with incendiary devices!  I'm in way too deep now!

Anomen stood gloomily in the stable door watching as Glorfindel and Aragorn rode away from the inn, Aragorn mounted on Anomen's own horse—insult added to injury!

"Come, lad," Bartholomew Butterbur said kindly.  "I'll show you to my chamber, where you will be staying until Master Gold returns."

Anomen had an inspiration.  "If it would not offend you, may I not sleep in the hayloft instead?  'Twould make it easier for me to look after the packhorse that remains—and I could help out about the stable as well."

"Are you sure you would be quite comfortable?" said Butterbur doubtfully.

"Oh, yes, Master Butterbur.  I shall mound up some hay and spread my blankets over it.  I have slept that way many a night."

"Very well, then.  But you must let me give you a few extra blankets.  I promised Master Gold that you could sleep on a pallet in my chamber, and I would not like him to think that you were not well housed."

"Thank you, Master Butterbur.  I should be glad of the extra blankets."

"It's settled then.  You may sleep in the hayloft, and in the morning, when you arise, you may help the stable master feed and water the horses.  Then come inside and break your own fast.  Afterward, I have no doubt that I will be able to find enough tasks to permit you to earn the rest of your keep."

This arrangement proved to be a very agreeable one for Anomen.  By the time the horses had been fed and watered each morning, another servant had already emptied the chamber pots of their nightly deposits.  You may be sure that scouring, toting, hauling, and sweeping were much more to Anomen's liking!

After a week had passed in this fashion, one evening Master Butterbur called on Anomen to build a fire in one of the rooms.

"Leif, hasten up to room number nine and lay a fire at once.  A gentleman has arrived who wishes to shortly retire to his chamber."

"Yes, Master Butterbur."  Anomen hurried to the room and arranged the fuel expertly.  As he was blowing on the glowing kindling, a Man entered the room.  Anomen did not look up.

"Your pardon, Master.  I will have this fire well established in a moment or two."

The Man said nothing but stood behind the kneeling elfling.  Once Anomen was  certain that the wood had well and truly caught and would burn without smoking, he arose and turned about.

"Mithrandir!"

In his astonishment, Anomen would have fallen backwards over the fireplace fender if the Istar had not reached out a hand and stayed him.

"In this place I am known as Gandalf," said the wizard calmly.

Anomen sighed.  "Everyone hereabouts goes by a different name."

Said Mithrandir dryly, "_You are hardly the one to complain about _that_!  Pray, how do you style yourself at the moment?"_

Anomen flushed.  "Leif Anomenson."

"Ah, well, the 'Leif' is a step in the right direction."

Anomen squirmed uncomfortably under Mithrandir's sharp gaze.

"Why are you here, Mith-Gandalf?"

"I am often in Bree.  Why are _you_ here."

"Glorfindel brought me here on a scouting mission.  He wished to masquerade as a trader, and he believed that if he were accompanied by a young apprentice he would be less likely to be doubted."

"But how did you metamorphose from a trader's apprentice to an innkeeper's skivvy?"

"Glorfindel has gone off with a Man named Longshanks to see whether there are Southrons hiding on Weathertop.  He left me with Butterbur because he fears that they will have to fight the Southrons."

"Ah, he has joined forces with Aragorn.  Good."

"You knew that Aragorn is called Longshanks?"

"Yes—hereabouts.  But you are forgetting yourself, Leif."

"I am?"

"Yes," teased Mithrandir.  "Shouldn't you be asking me if I am hungry or thirsty?"

Anomen grinned.  "Master Gandalf, sir, would you like aught to eat or to drink?  We have hotmeatpieshotfruitpiescoldmuttoncoldhambreadcheese'n'clottedcream."  He took a breath.  "And we have beerwine'n'ale.  Oh, yes, we have milk, if you would prefer _that.  Sir," he added._

Gandalf laughed.  "See if you can convince the cook to mull some of that wine.  Other than that, cold meat, bread, and cheese will suffice.  Oh, and see if you can prevail upon Butterbur to spare me a link of Southfarthing tobacco.  I haven't had a smoke in three days.  And be quick about it, lad!" he added with a wink.

In short order Anomen had returned with the requested items.

"Gandalf, may I visit with you a bit after I have finished my chores?"

"I would be glad of your company," said the wizard gravely.

"Thank you, Gandalf.  I must scour some pots now.  Farewell."

Mithrandir laughed softly after Anomen had hurried from the room.  Truly, the elfling was as amusing and dear to him as any Hobbit.

Late that evening Anomen returned to the wizard's chamber.  To the elfling's delight, Mithrandir had asked that a fruit pie be sent up, along with two more goblets of mulled wine.  Anomen had been given plenty to eat, but the fruit pies were usually devoured by the customers before it came time for the servants to take their meals in the kitchen.  And Butterbur had become convinced that milk was the only beverage that Anomen was to be permitted.

Anomen sat eating his pie and peppering Mithrandir with questions about Rivendell, for the wizard had told him that he had lately come from that place.

"Arwen has been moping about, wailing that Elladan and Elrohir never pay attention to her as you do.  Elladan and Elrohir have been moping about, complaining that with you gone Erestor requires more of them because the time they spend at lessons is divided betwixt two pupils instead of three.  Erestor is moping about, moaning that with you gone, there are fewer targets for the twins' pranks—and he is one of them."

"And Elrond?" asked Anomen eagerly.

"Oh, Elrond never mopes—but I must say that late at night I sometimes hear the howling of a wolf near his chamber—but no tracks are ever found in the morning!"

Anomen laughed at the picture of a perturbed elf-lord pacing and baying at the moon.

"Are you returning to Rivendell, Gandalf?"

"In due time.  For now I am on my way to the Shire."

"The Shire—the land of the Periannath?" said Anomen eagerly.

"Aye.  The very land."

"Take me with you, Gandalf!"

"Tell me, Leif, did Glorfindel say to you, 'Stay at the inn until a wandering wizard happens by and then go off with him'?"

"No, Gandalf, but—"

"He said to you, 'Stay at the inn, earning your keep, until I return and we resume our journey—is that not so?"

"Yes, Gandalf, but—"

"So the answer is, of course, no, you may _not _accompany me to the Shire—and be sure that I shall exchange your hands with your feet if you should venture to disobey Glorfindel and follow me!"

"Why cannot I ever be given a command that I wish to obey?" asked Anomen mournfully.

"Because," said Mithrandir tartly, "then it would not _be_ a command, would it?  Now be off with you.  I need to rest because I depart in the morning; you need to sleep because you must be up early to attend to your chores."

The next morning Anomen again found himself standing gloomily in a doorway as a friend departed.  Staff in hand, bag over his shoulder, the wizard strode down the street, stopped to wave at the street's end, turned the corner, and was gone.  Sighing, Anomen went into the inn.  Early though it was, the proprietor was bustling about.

"Master Farmer," called a Hobbit.  "Have you anyone going to the Shire this day?  I've some letters need to be carried to kin in the Southfarthing."

"There's Gandalf going," answered the innkeeper, accepting the letters.  "No doubt he'd be willing to carry them for you."

"Excuse me, Master Farmer," said Anomen.  "Master Gandalf has just now left."

The innkeeper clapped his hand to his head and groaned.  "And I have a letter needs delivering as well."

"Master Farmer," said Anomen eagerly.  "He hasn't been gone very long.  I would be glad to hasten after him with the letters."

"Would you?  That's a good lad.  Here be the letters."

"I'll just run back and tell Master Butterbur of my errand so that he will not wonder at my absence.'

"True, true.  He's the one keeps track of ye, in't he?"

"Aye, Master Farmer."

Anomen ran into the kitchen, where he knew Butterbur was tallying some barrels of beer that had just arrived.

"Master Butterbur," he called, waving the letters frantically, "I've an errand to run for Master Farmer.  These letters need to be delivered to the Shire."

"The Shire?  You'll be gone for a week then.  Take that satchel there and be sure to fill it sufficient to take you there and back again."

"Thank you, Master Butterbur.  I will."

Anomen hastily stuffed the satchel with bread, meat, and cheese, as well as the letters, of course, for he did mean to see that they were delivered.  Thus provisioned, out the door he ran.  For once, the elfling thought gleefully, he did not need to climb down a trellis!


	6. The Once And Future Prince

_Ky_: _Yes, Glorfindel's face should be a study of rage and frustration when he finds that Anomen has slipped off.  Uh oh, I see that you are threatening me with the "wrath of the reviewers" if I don't post quickly.  God hath no furry like a reviewer scorned!_

_Jebb__:  Hehehe.  Of course there was a limit to how long Anomen could stay put and behave!  But we wouldn't have it any other way, would we!?_

_Farflung__: Yes, Anomen is clever—but maybe 'too clever by half' as far as his cleverness getting him into mischief.  Say, aren't you glad that I didn't do anything graphic with the chamber pots!?_

_Lyn: _Thank you.  Since you said 'Please', here's another chapter!  ^_^

_Kitsune__: Here you go.  Not literally a 'sticky situation' this time, but Anomen does find himself 'entangled' in difficulties._

_Dragonfly: _Thank you for the reference to "Games of the Gods" by _Crimson Starlight.  I'll plan on reading that._

_Karri: _Well, _technically he didn't disobey anyone this time.  I think government officials call this 'deniability'._

Anomen had hurried only a short distance before he spied the wizard up ahead.  He slowed down then, not wanting to catch up when still so near to Bree, for Mithrandir would surely send him back if he did.

The entire day he trailed behind the far-away speck that was the Istar.  At last, towards dusk, he saw Mithrandir turn off the road into a thicket, no doubt to set up camp.  He hastened until he reached the spot where the wizard had disappeared, and then he carefully tracked the Istar to a small clearing.  Anomen found a good spot to hide so that he could keep apprised of Mithrandir's movements.

The wizard cast his bedroll upon the ground, and, removing a tiny camp kettle from his pack, he disappeared in search of water.  Anomen sat back on his heels to patiently await the Istar's return.  Suddenly the elfling was being yanked to his feet by one of his pointed ears.

"Pray tell me," growled a voice by said ear, "why I shouldn't use my staff to knock some sense into your head."

"B-b-because," stammered Anomen, "you may damage it!"

"The head or the staff?  The head I doubt would be harmed, but the staff may shatter on that thick skull of yours.  Well, well, I had better not risk it."

The wizard released his grip on Anomen's ear.  The elfling turned gingerly about and gazed up cautiously.  Mithrandir looked as fierce as Anomen had ever seen him.

"As you are here," said the wizard sternly, "take that kettle and fill it with water from that stream over yonder."

Anomen bent down and picked up the kettle that Mithrandir had quietly set down as he crept up behind Anomen.

"And when you have filled the kettle, gather sticks for a fire.  I expect you to be serving me a cup of tea before an Elf can sing _The Lay of Lúthien."_

_The Lay of Lúthien_ is not a very long song," said Anomen timidly.

"THEN YOU'D BETTER HOP TO IT!" roared the wizard.

Anomen hopped, scurried, ran, scuttled, and otherwise hastened to do the Istar's bidding.  Before too long Anomen was pouring boiling water into a mug into which he had cast a handful of tea leaves.  Bowing respectfully, he offered the mug to Mithrandir, who, puffing on his pipe, was reclining in comfort against a fallen trunk.

"Excellent.  Now cut me a piece of bread and a slice of that first-rate cheese.  Yes, that will do."

Mithrandir took a few bites and then said, "You may have some bread and cheese yourself.  I don't intend to starve you."

"I have bread, cheese, and meat in my pack."

"Ah, good.  That shows at least some forethought on your part."

"Mithrandir," said Anomen.  "I did have permission."

"Hereabouts you may call me Gandalf—actually, I'm rather fond of that particular name—and, no, you did not have permission."

"Master Farmer knew that I was going after you," argued Anomen, "and I told Master Butterbur that something had to be taken to Shire."

"_The Shire.  True, Master Farmer knew that you were going after me—let me guess, he had some letters he wanted delivered—but he did not expect you to follow me all the way to the Shire.  As for Butterbur, he only let you out of his sight because he thought that Master Farmer had commanded it—and you did nothing to disabuse him of that misconception!"_

"I was going to give you the letters," said Anomen defensively.

"Oh, when would that have been—as I stood at the very gates of the Shire?"

Shamefaced, Anomen had to admit that that had indeed been his plan.  He drew the letters forth from his pack and handed them to Gandalf.  Then he arose.

"I will be returning to Bree now, Gandalf."

"Oh, no, you don't," exclaimed the wizard.  "You won't get off that easily!  I rather think that I shall enjoy having a skivvy for a few days.  The fire is dying down—fetch more sticks.  And refill that kettle!  Oh, yes, my boots need a good cleaning—the approach to Bree was rather muddy.  And I have a rent in my cloak that needs mending.  You'll find needle and thread in my pack."

No sooner had Anomen finished one task than Gandalf assigned him another.  His cloak needed brushing—yes, and his hat needed brushing as well.  His belt buckle needed polishing.  He wanted another cup of tea.  His pipe needed to be cleaned and refilled—tamp down the tobacco just so.  His bedroll had to be shaken and spread out.  The fire needed mending.

Anomen closed out the day crouched by the stream washing Gandalf's woolen hose and then hanging them carefully by the fire so that they would be dry by morning.  Then he wearily collapsed in a leaf windrow.

"Anomen, have you no bedroll?" asked the wizard.

Anomen admitted that, while he had brought food, he was otherwise unprepared for an evening in a thicket.

"Here," said the wizard.  "Take my cloak and wrap yourself in it.  'Twill be cold tonight, for the sky is clear, but between your cloak and mine, you should be warm enough."

Gratefully, Anomen accepted the proffered cloak, and the tired elfling was asleep within minutes.  Gandalf sat up a little while longer, amusing himself by sending smoke creatures to dance about Anomen's head.

"That little fellow seems happy to wander anywhere except back to Greenwood," he said to himself.  "However are we to turn his feet in that direction?"

The wizard shook his head thoughtfully and turned in for the night.

The next morning Anomen awoke before Gandalf.  Immediately he leaped up and rekindled the fire and then went to fill the kettle.  When Gandalf woke up, Anomen at once presented him with a hot cup of tea.

"Well, well, how very kind of you, my lad.  Hot tea upon waking.  'Tis a luxury I do not often enjoy."

After sharing a companionable breakfast, the two set out again along the Road, but after awhile they turned aside and made for a forest that could be seen in the distance past several barrows.

"Why are we leaving the Road, Gandalf?"

"I have a mind to visit with an old friend before we go on to the Shire.  He lives in yonder forest.  The Hobbits call it the Old Forest, and it is indeed an ancient place.  A bit of a dodgy place, too, at times."

It was early afternoon when they reached the fringes of the Old Forest.  A path, which seemed wide and well-traveled, led into the depths of the wood.  They did not enter the forest at once, however.  At the trailhead, Gandalf stopped and slung his pack to the ground.

"I am weary and wish to rest a little before we travel the remainder of the way to my friend's abode.  As this forest is not a good place for napping, I will lay myself down here.  You should rest as well."

"I am not tired, Gandalf."

"Very well.  But under no circumstances are you to enter the forest whilst I sleep.  If anything untoward should happen, wake me."

With that Gandalf tipped his hat over his eyes and fell instantly asleep.  Anomen sat looking about, but soon grew bored.  He needed something to occupy himself.  To while away the time, he picked up a piece of wood and began to whittle it into a bird as a gift for Arwen.  Gandalf must have been very tired, for he slept for hours, and Anomen carved for such a long time that he was able to put the finishing touches on his creation, which was modeled on a bluejay.  "Once I have painted it," he thought with satisfaction, "it will fool the very jays themselves."  He held it up to catch the sun and turned it about to look at it from all angles.

Ai!  Anomen spoke too truly, for with a sudden flurry of wings, a jay swooped down and seized the toy from Anomen's hand and flew into the forest.

"You thief," yelled Anomen indignantly.  He leaped to his feet and peered into the woods.  The jay was perched only a short distance away in a tree next to the path.  The bird pecked at the carving a few times and then, losing interest, let it drop to the forest floor and flew off.  Anomen glanced at Gandalf.  Surely the tired wizard would not want to be awoken over such a matter as this.  The toy lay in plain sight only a few steps away and right at the edge of the path.  With one last glance at the Istar, Anomen hurried to the toy, retrieved it, and turned about to regain the wizard's side.  One would have almost thought that the trees had moved, for Anomen could no longer see Gandalf from where he stood.  The elfling was surprised but not fearful.  Granted his view of the wizard was blocked by a tree trunk; still, Gandalf was only a few paces away.  Anomen took a step toward where he knew the wizard to lie sleeping, rounded a tree trunk—and encountered more tree trunks.

"I have gotten myself turned about," thought Anomen.  "I should have stepped that way."  He moved off in a new direction.  More trees; no wizard.  After taking a step in—as he thought—every possible direction, Anomen decided that he had best climb into the canopy so that he could determine where the edge of the forest, and therefore Gandalf, lay.  But when he tried to take hold of a branch to swing himself into a tree, the branch slapped his hand away—and none too gently!  Anomen roamed from tree to tree, trying to find one that would permit him to climb up, but all rebuffed him.  At last Anomen had to admit that he was well and truly lost and had no prospect of finding his way out on his own.  He, a wood-elf, would have to stay put where he was—where ever _that might be—and wait to be rescued by an irate Istar.  At least he could shout and guide the wizard to him.  He opened his mouth.  "Gand—oomph!"  A thick vine had slapped him in the face.  Perhaps he wouldn't shout after all.  He looked about warily and, tightly clutching the wooden bird in his hand, backed away from the malevolent vine—only to discover that another creeper was winding itself about his ankle.  He tried to kick himself free, but the creeper gave a hard yank and pulled him to the ground.  Other creepers seized his other ankle and his wrists, and the original vine re-entered the fray, wrapping itself around his mouth.  Thoroughly trussed, Anomen could only lie still and hope that Gandalf would find him quickly._

As for that worthy wizard, by now he had awoken and was looking about for Anomen.  Almost at once he saw that the path had shifted.

"Ai!" Gandalf groaned, "that elfling has gone into the forest, and the trees are amusing themselves at his expense—and mine, too, for that matter!"

"Of course, he has gone into the forest, you old fool," the wizard replied to himself, "for you told him _not to.  Whatever did you expect!?" he scolded himself._

"Well," sighed the Istar.  "I'd best be on my way.  There will be no finding him."

And with that Gandalf shouldered his bag and, holding his staff in one hand and Anomen's pack in the other, he strode off down the path, which, by the way, stayed respectfully in place.

The unfortunate Anomen lay helplessly for hours after Gandalf had departed down the path.  The day birds had fallen silent and the night birds had begun to sing before he had any hope of rescue.  He heard then the voice of a Man or some such creature singing not so far away—and the sound was growing louder.

"Mmph!  Mmph!"  He sought to make any noise, no matter how slight.  He tried to wriggle about in the leaf litter so that the dry leaves might crackle and rustle.  The vine and the creepers tightened their grip, but the Man drew nearer nonetheless.

"That will be enough sport for one day," chortled a voice near Anomen's head.  The vine and the creepers loosened their hold and retreated, although the vine gave Anomen a parting whack on his bottom before it crept away altogether.

The elfling sat up and took a deep breath.  "Thank you, sir," he said to his rescuer as soon as he had gotten some fresh air into his lungs.

"No thanks be necessary, young prince."

Anomen gaped.  The Man laughed, his bright blue eyes dancing in his wrinkled, ruddy face.  Teasingly he said, "Ah, Legolas, have you lost your breath again so soon!?"

"If you please, sir," the elfling said nervously, "my name is Anomen."

"Oh, that is no name of yours, isn't it?"

"It is," insisted Anomen.

"Aye, that is what I said."

Confused, Anomen fell silent.

"I have many names myself," continued Anomen's rescuer.  "Iarwain Ben-adar the Elves call me, and the Dwarves Forn.  The Northern Men name me Orald, and hereabouts I am known as Tom Bombadil."

"What name would you prefer that I call you?" asked Anomen.

"Oh, Tom Bombadil will do—or just Tom."

"Very well," replied Anomen.  "And," he added carefully, "as I will be calling you the name that _you_ prefer, you will of course be calling me the name that _I_ prefer—Anomen!"

Tom laughed heartily.  "'Tis a true name although no name at all—happens you have more than one true name, is all.  Come now.  Goldberry has long since put on supper, and I wish to keep her waiting no longer."

"But I must find my friend Gandalf!  He'll be wondering where I have gotten myself to."

"Oh, no, I warrant you that the wizard is not in the least concerned about you.  No, not one whit!"

Off strolled this singular being, and Anomen, having no wish to remain alone in the dodgy forest, had perforce to follow him, running to keep up, for, although only the word 'strolled' could describe Tom's gait, he moved at a rapid clip, singing all the while.  His song was of a droll sort, _Hey! Come merry dol! Come derry dol! _being a typical refrain.

            _Come derry dol!  Hop along, my hearties!_

_            Never you mind the naughtiness of trees!_

_            Wizards!  Elflings!  Be you fond of parties?_

_            Hey! Come merry dol! Come derry dol!_

            Before Anomen knew it he found himself crossing the wide stone threshold of a house filled with light and warmth and cheer.  Anomen blinked, and when his eyes had adjusted to the light, he saw Gandalf sitting comfortably before the fire, his feet on the fender, a pipe in his mouth.  The wizard took that last object out of his mouth as Tom and Anomen entered the room.

"Ah, so you have found him, Tom.  Thank you.  Well, Anomen, we've waited supper—although I must say you deserve to go without for disobeying my command that you not go into the forest."  The wizard looked sharply at Anomen from underneath his bristling eyebrows.

"I am sorry, Gandalf," Anomen said contritely, "but I swear I intended only to step a few paces down the path."

"Tell me, Anomen," Gandalf said sternly.  "Did I say, 'Under no circumstances are you to enter the forest whilst I sleep _except for a few paces'?"_

"No," admitted Anomen.

"What did I say?"

"Under no circumstances are you to enter the forest whilst I sleep."

"Your memory is commendable even if your obedience is not.  I must console myself with that thought, I suppose."

Gandalf arose and, smiling down upon Anomen, he placed a hand upon his shoulder.  "Well, well, the incident is at an end now.  Let us turn our attention to this excellent repast that awaits us.  We must strive to do justice to Goldberry's labors!"

Relieved, Anomen took his place at the table.  However greatly Gandalf was provoked, once he had vented his wrath, he was a forgiving wizard.  The matter was closed and would not be repeatedly dredged up and thrown in the elfling's face.  Elrond was of the same temperament.  Ai!  If only Glorfindel would take his cue from the wizard and the Lord of Imladris!

After a most excellent dinner of yellow cream and honeycomb, and white bread, and butter, milk, cheese, and green herbs and ripe berries, Gandalf sighed with contentment and relit his pipe.

"So, Anomen," he said genially, "what did induce you to go into the forest after I had told you not to?"

"I had carved a toy for Arwen, and a bird snatched it away.  Ai!" Anomen cried suddenly, looking at his empty hands.  "I have lost it!"

Tom held out his own hand, palm up and empty.  He turned it palm down, then palm up again.  There sat the bird—but with plumage that glowed blue and white.  Caught between delight and amazement, Anomen stared at Tom Bombadil.  Gandalf laughed.

"Tell me, Tom, Goldberry, have you ever seen an elfling with such big eyes?"

"He has big eyes, but an ever bigger heart," replied Tom, handing the toy to the elfling.  "There are worse sins than hastening to rescue a gift for a friend."

Gandalf nodded, grave and merry at the same time.  "Well, well, there is truth in what you say.  Now, Anomen, up with you and help Goldberry with the dishes.  Do not forget that you are still a skivvy!"

Gladly Anomen arose and hastened after Goldberry.  "I would rather," he thought, "be a skivvy for Gandalf than Prince of Greenwood any day!"  And with that the once and future prince eagerly commenced washing dishes.


	7. Safe And Sound?

_Elemental Flair: _Do you mean that you want a story set after the ring council takes place, during the timeframe of the LOTR itself?  Or after the events of the ROTK?  Or something else altogether?

_Farflung__: In the field of folklore, it is a truism that if a command is given to _not_ do something, invariably the command is broken.  This is especially true in the case of a character like Anomen._

_Lyn: _You're right—it's the word not the number.  Sometime this week I'll clarify that section so that it is clear that the word is intended.

_Ky_: _Tom Bombadil is almost like Galadriel in his ability to look into the hearts and minds of characters._

_Daw__ the Minstrel: Unfortunately, not even Gandalf can keep Anomen busy enough to prevent him from getting into trouble, as you will see in a future chapter._

_Dragonfly: _When Gandalf left Anomen behind, it was because he knew the only one who could find him would be Tom.  I'm going to add a sentence to clarify that, to make it clear that Gandalf was hurrying off to ask Tom to rescue Anomen.

Vocabulary

Böse—'Malevolence' (German)

Dieb—'Thief' (German)

Mörder—'Murderer' (German)

Räuber—'Robber' (German)

Todsünde—'Deadly Sin' (German)

Übel—'Evil' (German)

Anomen slept very well that night on a feather bolster, wrapped up in a down duvet.  The same could not be said for Glorfindel.  By this time, Aragorn son of Aravir was leading him through the Midgewater Marshes.  The Ranger had chosen this route both because it allowed them to bypass a great loop of the Road and because it would set them on a path that would permit them to approach Weathertop unseen.

The Midgewater Marshes were aptly named, for its bogs and pools were home to legions of voracious midges that tormented the travelers by creeping beneath their tunics and leggings in search of a blood meal.  Glorfindel was normally unflappable, but these tiny creatures buzzing about his ears and crawling into his hair and clothing were well nigh more than he could bear.

"What," he asked Aragorn miserably, "do they live on when they can't get Elf?"

"Ranger," replied his laconic guide.

It took them two days to traverse the treacherous quagmire that was the Midgewater Marsh.  When they had at last left it behind, Aragorn steered them not directly toward Weathertop but to a line of hills from which they would be able to pick up a trail that would bring them to the base of Weathertop from the north rather than the west.

"The trail is well-hidden from spying eyes," Aragorn told Glorfindel.  "It follows a track that makes the most of the natural features of the land, such as dells and hilltops and banks.  Where such natural screens are lacking, its builders have lined the path with large boulders and hewn stones that serve to shield the traveler from view."

Thus it was that the Ranger and the Elf were able to arrive undetected at the foot of Weathertop, where they found twelve horses picketed.

"This is a good sign," said Glorfindel.  "Twelve horses; mayhap only twelve men."

"Perhaps fewer," observed Aragorn, "if some of these horses are pack animals."

"But even if there are as many as twelve Southrons, those are good odds."

"Reasonable ones, yes.  Let us reconnoiter."

Elf and Ranger climbed silently to the crest of Weathertop, taking care to remain behind the stones that crowned the summit.  From their hiding places, they saw a campfire around which sat the Southrons.  Swiftly they counted their foes.

"There are in fact only six of them—three apiece, my friend," whispered Aragorn.

"Ah, those are excellent odds—much in our favor," replied Glorfindel quietly but cheerfully.  "Still, we must wait for them to make the first move."

"Agreed."

"With that the Ranger and the Elf broke cover and walked nonchalantly toward the surprised Southrons.

"Good e'en to you, friends," called Aragorn.  "I had not thought to see other travelers in these desolate parts.  May we not share your fire on this cold night?"

"Who might you be?" asked one of the Southrons cautiously.

"Ah, yes, it is wise to ask the name of a stranger.  I am Strider; this, my companion, is Master Gold, a trader.  There are so many of his ilk passing through Bree-land that Master Gold is of a mind to try his luck elsewhere, and I am guiding him to several of the more remote villages."

The Southrons exchanged glances.  The one who had spoken, the leader evidently, nodded with ill grace.

"Very well, then.  You may share our fire if you must.  I am Böse.  This is Übel; that is Mörder.  Those three over there are Todsünde, Dieb, and Räuber."

With that, the Southrons drew close around the fire, looking down upon it with hunched shoulders as if they wished to exchange no further speech with their two guests.

"Well," said Glorfindel in friendly guise, "we'll just prepare our supper.  Strider here brought down a deer yesterday, and much meat remains.  You are welcome to as much of it as you can eat, for I would not like to see it go to waste."

"Already eaten," grunted Böse.

"Ah, pity.  Mayhap you will dine upon some of it in the morning, for there will surely be some left still."

 Böse grunted, but his words were indistinguishable.

Aragorn spoke then.  "You have journeyed here from a very great distance, I see."

That prompted Böse to speak.  Demanded the Southron, his eyes narrowing, "What makes you say that?"

"You speak with an accent such as is spoken only in southern parts far from this land."

"And you speak with a northern accent," snapped Böse.  "What of it!?"

"Aye," Aragorn replied calmly. "I speak with a northern accent, but that is to be expected.  I am a man of the north; this is a northern land.  My accent would attract no notice hereabouts.  It is not so common to encounter southerners so far north, so you must pardon my curiosity."

"I am not in the habit of granting pardon," replied the Southron truculently.

"My companion meant no offense," Glorfindel interjected.  "He was merely making small talk as Men do when they meet.   Surely that is a custom in the south as well as the north."

Böse grunted once more, his words again incomprehensible.  Then he seemed to change tack.

"Todsünde," said Böse, "is there any bread left in my bag?"

Todsünde arose and walked behind Aragorn and Glorfindel to rummage in a pack.

"Dieb," Böse then said, "the fire burns low.  Fetch more sticks."

Dieb stood up to obey, also moving behind Aragorn and Glorfindel.  Räuber arose then as well.  He bent down to pick up the kettle.

"I am going to fetch more water before it grows any darker."

"A good idea, Räuber," said Böse.

Räuber stepped behind Aragorn and Glorfindel.  Glorfindel pressed his hand on Aragorn's back, and the Ranger nodded almost imperceptibly.  Still the two companions did nothing.  It was only when they heard the rasp of metal as swords were drawn from sheaths that the two leaped up, Glorfindel spinning about to face the three who had slipped behind them whilst Aragorn took on Böse and the other two.

Glorfindel was right.  The odds were excellent.  With one blow apiece, Glorfindel took down Todsünde and Aragorn Übel.  The remaining Southrons became more cautious then, but they could make no headway against an Elf and a Ranger fighting back to back.  The Southrons did not have the skill of either Glorfindel or Aragorn.  Nor did they have their stamina, and as the Southrons tired they were picked off.  One of Dieb's blows went wide, and Glorfindel drove under his guard, gutting him.  Räuber lost his head then, figuratively speaking, but the real object was shortly detached from him because in his panic he was swinging wildly.  As for Aragorn, he hacked off Mörder's sword arm when he overextended it and followed that up with a blow to his enemy's throat.  Böse took a little longer to fell; he fought with the strength that comes from desperation.  In the end, however, his fate was inescapable.  Böse slipped on the bloody ground, falling onto his back, and the Ranger thrust his sword into his heart.

The two friends stood silently then, catching their breath.

After awhile Glorfindel spoke.

"There is not sufficient wood hereabouts to burn the bodies."

"No," agreed Aragorn, "but there are rocks enough.  Let us drag the bodies outside the circle of stones and erect a cairn over them."

When they had done that, they cleaned the campsite as best they could, for Aragorn knew that it would be used by Rangers in the future and he was loathe to leave it in disarray.  They threw earth upon the fire and restacked the wood that the Southrons had carelessly kicked about.  The weapons and the packs of the Southrons they tossed over the west side of the hill, where they were unlikely to be seen.  The blood they would have to leave for the rain to obliterate.  Then they climbed back down to the base of the hill.

"What shall we do with the Southrons' horses?" said Glorfindel.

"It wouldn't do," Aragorn pointed out, "for you to return to Bree leading a string of twelve horses.  Let us lead them to the Road and then loose them.  It is likely that they will be happened upon by traders who will be all too glad to laden them with their goods."

That course agreed upon, Elf and Ranger headed south toward the Road, Glorfindel much relieved that, secrecy no longer necessary, they would not have to return to Bree via the Midgewater Marshes.

A few days later, as they neared Bree, Aragorn insisted on parting from Glorfindel.  He dismounted from Anomen's horse and handed the reins to the elf-lord.

"Will you not come to the inn with me and share a good meal and a comfortable room at my expense?" asked Glorfindel.

"I thank you for the offer, but I must hasten toward the Northern Waste.  My kinsmen have been expecting me these several days."

"I understand.  Mayhap I shall be able to extend you hospitality at some future time.  You know that you and yours are always welcome in Rivendell."

"Thank you, my friend."

"Stay well, mellon-nîn."

Aragorn nodded and strode off rapidly.

Glorfindel turned his horse toward Bree.  He was anxious to see how Anomen had gotten on in his absence.  He hoped the elfling had been obedient and hard-working.

"Ah, welcome back, Master Gold," exclaimed Master Farmer as Glorfindel entered the inn.  "Will you be wanting a room tonight?"

"Aye, if you can accommodate me."

"Indeed we can.  You there, Peter, son of Jack, see if number nine is fit for a guest.  If it in't, be sure that you put it in order straightaway!"

Peter, still wearing the same jacket and still barefoot, scurried off to attend to number nine.

"I hope my boy Leif has been no trouble," said Glorfindel

"No trouble that I know of.  But you'll have to ask Bartholomew.  It was he who looked after the lad.  Hey! Bartholomew Butterbur," bellowed Master Farmer, beckoning to that worthy.  "How has Master Gold's boy gotten on?"

"Oh, he's a hard worker, that boy is.  I've missed him these past several days whilst he's been off to the Shire.  He should be back any day now, Master Gold—he's been gone that long."

"The Shire?" said Master Farmer, puzzled.  "What does he there?"

"Why, Master Farmer, you yourself sent him off with letters for the Shire.  He rushed into the kitchen in a great hurry, waving them about and saying how you wanted 'em delivered."

"Aye, that I did, but I only meant that he was to run after Gandalf, who was going to the Shire anyway!"

 Dismayed, Butterbur turned to Glorfindel.

"I am so sorry, Master Gold!  The poor lad misunderstood and thought that the master had commanded him to carry the letters to the Shire himself.  I am sure that he will return soon, and unharmed.  The road to the Shire is not a bit perilous, at least not nowadays."

Glorfindel nodded.  "Do not be distressed over the matter, Master Butterbur.  No doubt you are correct.  The lad soon will show up safe and sound."

"But," the elf-lord added to himself, "he won't remain safe and sound once I get _my hands on him!"_


	8. Brandy Hall

_Ky_: _I've finally taken your advice and used the bio space in my profile to list the order of "The Nameless One" stories._

_Jebb__: Oh, I wouldn't pity Anomen too much over what Glorfindel does to him._

_Dragonfly: _Yes, it is very lucky for Anomen that he will return to Bree in the company of Gandalf.  You like Aragorn the First?  Maybe I can contrive to make him figure in another story.

_Farflung__: Oh, good, you recognized the phrase about the menu of those wretched midges._

_Joee__: I promise I'll try to do another story about Anomen when he is still relatively young (young for an Elf, anyway)._

_Karri: _Actually, Anomen is going to have quite a bit of fun before he has to return to Bree.  That's the focus of this chapter.

Gandalf and Anomen stayed two nights at the cottage of Goldberry and Tom Bombadil.  Anomen left regretfully.  Tom had taken him about and introduced him to many of the trees, and the forest denizens had been polite to him after that.  There was one exception: a bad-tempered willow sapling whose dangling branches pulled at Anomen's hair whenever he passed, but the elfling soon learned to avoid him.

Wizard and elfling journeyed on through the Old Forest until they came to a hedge.  It looked as if it had been planted years ago yet still within living memory.

"We could probably squeeze through a gap," said Gandalf, "but, fortunately, that won't be necessary.  Some friends of mine in Buckland have been so kind as to entrust me with a key."

"Buckland?"

"Aye, we will not be crossing the Baranduin—or Brandywine as the Hobbits call it—to enter the Shire proper.  Instead, we shall be visiting in a strip of land settled and inhabited by the Brandybucks, as they style themselves nowawadays—they used to be known as the Oldbucks.  I have a mind to visit with Gorbadok Brandybuck.  Redoubtable gentleman he is.  Goes by the nickname 'Broadbelt'.  His wife is just as redoubtable—Mirabella Took, a member of another distinguished family.  It is my opinion that the Brandybuck and Took families someday will give rise to some truly remarkable Hobbits.  Tooks and Brandybucks are more adventuresome than most other Hobbits.  Indeed, a Hobbit with merely a drop of Took or Brandybuck blood can be distinguished from a more ordinary Hobbit—at least if one knows what to look for.  Yes," the wizard continued thoughtfully, "I imagine that even the most timid and respectable of Hobbits—say one of the Bagginses that dwell in Hobbiton and thereabouts—would be capable of great deeds with the addition of just a little Tookishness."

They did not in point of fact go _through the hedge.  Actually, they went __under it, for a carefully constructed tunnel, with brick sides, had been cut under the shrubbery.  This passageway was barricaded by a gate of thick-set iron bars.  After unlocking and relocking this gate, Gandald led Anomen on to Brandy Hall.  As they drew near, the wizard warned Anomen that young Brandybuck Hobbits could be a bit overwhelming._

"To begin with, there will be a lot of them.   Hobbits tend to be much more prolific than Elves in that respect, so you must expect to be fair overrun.  Also, there are almost always some Took cousins visiting at Brandy Hall.  When those Took and Brandybuck cousins get together, there is usually Mordor to pay!  Indeed," Gandalf continued dryly, "the only thing worse than confronting the combined forces of a Took and a Brandybuck is having to keep an eye out for one willful elfling!"

Anomen blushed a little, but the wizard sent an affectionate smile his way.

Gandalf had not been exaggerating.  Their approach had been espied from one of the round windows so common in Hobbit architecture, and a door—likewise round—was flung open from which issued a seemingly endless stream of ruddy-faced youngsters with curly brown hair on their heads and their feet.  They swarmed about the visitors, hurrahing and shouting Gandalf's name.

"Fireworks, Gandalf, fireworks!"

"I've brought you something much more entertaining than fireworks—this young Elf here."

"An Elf!  An Elf!  What's his name!?"

You can call him Leif.  Now I'll leave you to introduce yourselves."

With that, Gandalf disappeared inside Brandy Hall, leaving Anomen surrounded by clamoring Hobbit children.  Names were shouted at Anomen so rapidly that it was only with great difficulty that he could attach them to the corresponding faces.

"I'm Rorimac," shouted one, "but everyone calls me Rory.  And this is Saradoc.  But everyone calls him 'Sorry'," giggled Rory.  'Sorry' scowled.

 "I'm Merimac," exclaimed another, "but I go by Merry."

"And if you ever want to get him angry," shouted Rorimac, or Rory, "call him Merry Sue.  But be ready to duck if you do, because he's a dead shot with a dirt clod!"

"I'm Saradas!"

"Dodinas!"

"Dinodas!"

"Gorbulas!"

There were also various Bolgers, Burrowses, Bracegirdles, and Bagginses, related either by blood or marriage.  And of course there were a number of Tooks, with names such as Paladin and Ferumbras and Fortinbras and Isengrim and Isumbras and Isengar.

Introductions completed, the young Hobbits proposed various amusements.

"Let's go berry picking," suggested one.

"No! no! pony riding!"

"Tree climbing!"

"Birds nesting!"

"Swimming!" suggested Merry.

"No! no!" objected one of the smaller Hobbits—Anomen thought it was one of the Bagginses—"We don't all swim as you Tooks and Brandybucks do!"

"All right, then—boating!  You won't have to go into the water—and the braver sort can handle the boats."

"I am _too brave!" protested the little Baggins._

"So," smirked Merry, "you won't mind boating then."

Boating it had to be after that.  There was a regular stampede down to a nearby pond where a number of boats were pulled up on the grassy bank.  Some of the Hobbits piled into the boats.  Others, after digging up worms and fetching poles hidden in a hollow log, settled down on the bank to fish.  A few, Merry included, did swim after all—Tooks and Brandybucks exclusively, Anomen noticed.  This last pursuit was most appealing to the Elf, and he stripped down and joined in, splashing back happily as the Hobbits sent water flying every which way.  Between the splashing of oars and of arms, the poor Hobbits angling for fish were unable to reel in a single one, their quarry having taken refuge in the reeds.

After awhile, when the swimmers were sufficiently water-wrinkled, they scrambled out of the pond and sat on the bank to dry in the sun.  Hobbits and elfling looked one another over.

"Have you been ill?" Merry asked Anomen.  "You're very skinny."

In point of fact, Anomen was thin when compared to Elladan and Elrohir, but not exceptionally so for an Elf.

"No, I haven't been ill.  This is just the way Elves are shaped."

"Oh.  What has happened to your feet?"

"My feet?"

"You have lost the hair on your feet."

"I never had any hair on my feet."

"No hair on your feet!  Not even on your toes?"

"Not even on my toes."

Merry stretched out his legs and admired his own curly-haired feet.  Imagine not even having hair on one's toes!

"Gandalf doesn't have hairy feet either," said Anomen defensively.  He had seen the wizard's bare feet when he had had to wash the Istar's woolen hose.

"No hair at all!?"

"Well," admitted Anomen, "he does have some hair on his toes."

"Hah!" crowed Merry triumphantly.

Anomen struck back.  "_My ears are more pointed than _yours_."_

Merry studied Anomen's ears.  Reluctantly, the Hobbit had to admit that the elfling's ear were indeed pointier than his.

"What's that there on your arm?" the Hobbit said at last, pointing to the elfling's forearm.

"Oh, that?  It's a birthmark.  A friend of mine says that it looks like the elven word for nine."

Merry was impressed.  "My gaffer says that birthmarks are portents."

"Portents?"

"Aye, signs of one's destiny.  Maybe," mused the Hobbit, "you will have nine lives, like a cat."

"I already have sufficient lives," said Anomen.  "More likely it means that I will have nine names!  I've already made a good start toward that!"

"Pardon?"

Anomen shook his head.  "It's nothing."

They heard a dinner horn sound in the distance.  Fishers made haste to replace poles, boaters pulled for the shore, and swimmers searched for scattered clothes.  When Anomen found his tunic and leggings, he discovered that they had been tied into knots—and with great thoroughness!  Elladan and Elrohir, he thought to himself, were going to be sorry that they missed out on meeting these Hobbits!

            The next day Gandalf went off with the master of Brandybuck Hall to visit old friends thereabouts.

            "I shall be gone 'till nightfall.  Be sure," the wizard sternly warned, "that you do not make any trouble for Mistress Brandybuck."

            "I won't, Gandalf.  I promise."

            "Hmph," snorted the Istar skeptically as he strode off.

            Anomen lazed about for several hours with the Brandybuck and Took cousins.  They swam, they boated, they skipped stones, they made musical instruments out of reeds and blades of grass.  After a while, Merry asked Anomen if he liked mushrooms.

"Oh, yes," replied Anomen eagerly.  "Is there some place hereabouts where we can pick them."

"We-ell," said Merry, "the best place is across the river."

"Shall we take the boats?"

"The current is rather swift.  There is a bridge, but even nearer is a ferry.  Come."

"Shouldn't we tell Mistress Brandybuck that we are going?"

"Oh, no!" said Merry hastily.  "That won't be necessary."

Anomen noticed the quickness of the reply, but he did want mushrooms, so he elected to ignore it.  Off they went, Merry and Anomen and a half-dozen or so cousins.  Chattering gaily, they made short work of the walk to the ferry.

"Halloo!" shouted Merry when they had arrived at the bank.

Out came the old ferryman from the shed where he whiled away the days whittling toys for his innumerable grandchildren and great-grandchildren and, in fact, great-great grandchildren.

"Good day, to you, Master Proudfoot."

"That's Proudfeet," grumbled Master Proudfoot.  The Hobbit children humored him; it was one of the idiosyncrasies that the old Hobbit had adopted as he grew ever more ancient.

"Of course, Master Proudfeet.  Pardon me.  We'd be much obliged, Master Proudfeet," continued Merry, "if you'd ferry us across the river this fine day."

The elderly Hobbit stared suspiciously at the younglings.  "If you have permission, then I'm a Dwarf," he muttered.

"We've an errand to fetch mushrooms.  We'll be sure to bring _you back some, Master Proudfeet."_

Hearing that, the cantankerous old Hobbit smiled, revealing a number of gaps in his teeth, although enough remained, apparently, for the devouring of the favored fungus.

"Will ye?  A fine lad you be, you and yer cousins.  Come aboard then."

The young Hobbits helped pull on the rope that drew the ferry across the river. Truth be told, the old ferryman was a caretaker only, and passengers were always expected to provide the Hobbit-power.

"And at night," Merry told Anomen.  "There is no ferryman at all, and the ferry remains docked on the Buckland side of the river." 

Once on the other side, the young Hobbits and the elfling made for a spot where, Merry assured Anomen, the most excellent mushrooms grew in vast quantity.

"But," said Merry, "I must warn you, that, even though there are plenty for all, there is a Hobbit, old Farmer Grub, who has laid claim to that patch of mushrooms.  If he happens upon us, be sure to run as fast as you can for the ferry, or he'll feed you to his beasts!"

"Would that patch happen to be on his own land?"

"Well, yes, but mushrooms grow wild, don't they?  It's not as if he plants 'em and tends 'em, in't that so?  And there are so many of them!  He couldn't possibly eat 'em all, and then they'd be wasted, wouldn't they?  Why, the land would be fair overrun with mushrooms, and they'd crowd themselves out, they would!  They'd die out altogether if they weren't thinned."

Anomen had his doubts about this last bit of botanical wisdom but again chose to withhold comment in the interest of satisfying his appetite for mushrooms.

The Hobbits grew quiet as they crept onto the land of Farmer Grub.  Anomen had not believed them capable of such stillness.  Ai! it would take more than silence to evade the detection of Farmer Grub's servants, for amongst them were creatures with keen noses.  Hobbits and elfling had hardly begun to gather mushrooms when there arose an uproar of snarling, growling, and barking.  The young Hobbits shrieked and ran for the road.  Anomen tried to follow suit, but in the confusion, a Hobbit blundered into him and bowled him over.  Before Anomen could rise to his feet, the dogs were upon him.

Elves don't keep dogs, and to Anomen the creatures looked like wolves.  Terrified, Anomen curled up and wrapped his arms over his head.  He felt something moist on his hands.  Blood?  But he felt no pain.  Cautiously Anomen peeked out from between his arms.  The dogs were licking his hands.  He also saw that they were wagging their tails, and, unfamiliar with dogs though he was, Anomen knew that the gesture was not a threatening one.  And now, instead of barking and growling, the beasts were whining, and there was an eagerness and friendliness to the sound.  Slowly Anomen lowered his arms.  The dogs at once began to lick his face.  The elfling giggled.  How could creatures that looked so much like wolves be so much fun!?

            "Well, now!" boomed a voice.  "My dogs seem to like'ee.  That's a sign that you must not be a scoundrel—even if you were in the company of those dratted Tooks and Brandybucks.  But what you _do be, I am at a loss to say, for it is certain you are no Hobbit!"_

            "I am an Elf, sir," replied Anomen politely.  As he was not in Bree-land, he knew it was not necessary to pretend that he was a human boy.

            "An Elf!  Don't get too many of those hereabouts.  Heel Goblin!  Heel Dragon!  Troll!  Let 'im up, now."

            Obediently, the dogs retreated a few paces and sat down, their tongues lolling.  Anomen arose.

            "I am sorry to have trespassed, Farmer Grub," he said contritely.  "I'll be going now."

            "Not just yet, you won't!  You must visit with me and mine awhile.  We don't have much of a chance to exchange news with the Fair Folk."

            Visit awhile?  What did the farmer mean by 'awhile'?

            "Sir, I must be back at Brandy Hall by nightfall or Gandalf will be angry with me."

            "Ah, Gandalf.  So that's how you've come to be in these parts.  You're with that old wandering conjurer.  All the more reason to extend you hospitality—wouldn't want him to cast a spell on my crops!  Fear not—I'll have you back to Brandy Hall by nightfall.  You came across by the ferry, I'll warrant.  Come have a bite with us, and then I'll hook up the wagon and take you back to the ferry straightaway."

            Relieved, Anomen readily agreed.  He was genuinely hungry by now and would indeed be glad of a bite, even if it included no mushrooms.

            As it turned out, mushrooms _were_ on the menu, as were bacon and cheese and warm bread and piping hot potatoes in their jackets and creamed onions and turnips and carrots and parsnips and hot ham and cold beef and beer aplenty—this last item Anomen was becoming accustomed to (although he would always prefer wine when he could get it).  Just when Anomen was pushing his plate away with a satisfied sigh, Mistress Grub proudly entered bearing a fruit pie smothered in cream, and the dozen or so at the table fell to once again.  At last, after Anomen had pushed his plate away a second time, Farmer Grub, looking out the window, said, "I'd best hook up the wagon and get you to the ferry afore old Master Proudfeet—foot! ah, now the old codger has me sayin' it, too—makes for home."

            Farmer Grub was as good as his word, and soon he and Anomen were rattling toward the ferry, Anomen entertaining the farmer the entire way with news of the lands beyond the Shire.

            "Here you be," said the farmer at last.  "Oh, and here is a gift for Gandalf and one for old Master Proudfoot as well." 

            Anomen climbed down, and the farmer handed Anomen two cloth-covered baskets.

            "Thank you, Farmer Grub."

            "Don't mention it at all, young Elf.  Me and mine are always glad to help out travelers in need.  Farewell."  With that the farmer, who had proved to be truly amiable in spite of his fearsome reputation amongst the inhabitants of Buckland, backed up his wagon and turned toward home. 

            Anomen hailed the ferryman, and he laboriously drew the boat across so that the Elf might cross.  Anomen handed Mr. Proudfoot his basket, and then, on his own—for the ferryman promptly sat down to gaze gleefully at his gift—the elfling wrestled the ferry back to the other bank.  Then Anomen bolted for Brandy Hall, for the sun was westering.  He raced up to the door of the Hall just as Gandalf was hastening out in alarm, for the cousins had tearfully told him that Anomen had been eaten by dogs.

            "You scamp," cried the wizard in mingled anger and relief.  "You haven't been eaten by dogs after all."

            "Oh, no, Gandalf, and I have brought you a gift from Farmer Grub."

            Anomen handed the Istar the basket.  Gandalf took it and raised the cloth to see what it held.

            "Well, well," said the wizard, considerably mollified.  "Well, well, a basketful of Farmer Grub's famous mushrooms.  I suppose I shall have to let you off this time since you return bearing such a gift."

            The next morning Gandalf insisted that they must return to Bree—"If Glorfindel gets back before you do, he will have your head"—and Anomen departed Brandy Hall as regretfully as he had left the cottage of Goldberry and Tom Bombadil.  He could have spent days playing truant with the Took and Brandybuck cousins.

            The two travelers left surrounded by a chorus of farewell and called back a fair number of their own.

            "Goodbye, Rory!  Goodbye, Sorry!"

            Anomen saved his parting from Merry until the last.       

"Farewell, Merry…Sue!" shouted Anomen.  Then he ducked as the promised dirt clod came sailing toward him.  It flew over Anomen—and knocked the hat from Gandalf's head.  All young Hobbits instantly vanished into the woods on either side of the road, leaving an unfortunate Anomen alone with an irate Istar who had no other target on which to vent his rage.

"LEGOLA—ANOMEN!" bellowed that worthy wizard.  Anomen blanched.

The Istar pointed with his staff at the hat that lay in the middle of the dusty road.

"Just you pick that up right now!"

Timidly, Anomen approached and bent down to retrieve the hat—and Gandalf whacked Anomen's bottom with his staff.  It was as substantial a whack as Anomen had received as a parting gift from the vine in the Old Forest, and Anomen fervently hoped that this was not the beginning of a pattern.

"You do not," huffed the Istar, "trifle with the hat of a wizard."

"I'm sorry," said Anomen humbly.  "I'll never do it again."

"Hmmph!" snorted the wizard as he settled his hat upon his head.  "Never is a very long time."  Satisfied that his hat was secure, Gandalf examined his staff.  "Sorry," he muttered apologetically to the stick.  "Undignified thing to do.  Next time I'll cast a spell that will give him hairy toes—_that would serve him right."_

Anomen overhead the last threat and resolved to be _very_, _very_ good.


	9. Noro Lim!

**Folks, Anomen is going to be injured in this chapter.  I wouldn't call it gratuitous elf-abuse, but I did want to warn anyone who doesn't like to read about harm befalling Elves in general or this Elf in particular.**

****

_Tinnuial__: The reunion between Glorfindel and Legolas will take place in this chapter.  Actually, things will not go as anyone expected, and they will have to be reunited not once but twice._

_MoroTheWolfGod__: This chapter will have a few humorous spots, but it is mainly angsty.  I'm afraid Legolas is literally in for some 'hard knocks'._

_Kitsune__: You want me to—gulp!—set a tale __during the LOTR?  (Author blanches paler than Legolas.)  I'm not sure I have the guts to take _that_ on!_

_Ky_: _'Laiqua' was the nickname given to Legolas by his foster mother.  The seneschal Gilglir also used that name, but Thranduil could not bring himself to utter it.  I'm assuming that Gandalf, as he wandered Middle Earth rooting about for news, would have learned that the ceremonial name of the Prince of Mirkwood was the Quenyan Laiqualasse and that his less formal name was the Sindarin Legolas.  In his mind, I think he would gravitate toward the less formal name; thus I have him starting to use that name when he is flustered and momentarily forgets that the prince is to be called 'Anomen' for the time being._

_Reviewer (no other name given): _Glorfindel is getting close to learning his lesson, although it won't be articulated until they are safe back in Rivendell and Glorfindel has a chance to reflect and talk with Elrond.

_Jebb__: Legolas will escape from Glorfindel's wrath once again—although in a most unexpected way._

_Farflung__: Your response to the chapter was practically a chapter itself!  About the birth mark:  it is all of those things—portent of his role in the Fellowship of the Nine Walkers, sign of nine 'lives', sign of nine names (which, yes, could also correspond to 'lives').  So far he's been named or called Laiqualasse, Legolas, Laiqua, Anomen, Nomie, Durrandir, and Leif Anomenson.  Seven names and counting._

_Daw__ the Minstrel: Anomen is going to end up in even worse trouble this chapter—really __serious trouble._

_Dragonfly: _The birthmark is based on the tattoo, but I'm using it in multiple ways, as I explain above to _Farflung_.  I'm following the principle so dear to Elf warriors of "killing two Orcs with one sword thrust."  (Legolas follows the principle in spirit when he slays two Orcs with one arrow at the skirmish at Parth Galen when the Fellowship is broken [movie version]!)

_Joee__: Yes, couldn't resist using one of  Glorfindel's favorite phrase.  Glad you enjoyed the 'Merry Sue/Mary Sue' pun._

_Karri: _Legolas might exasperate Gandalf sometime, but I don't really think you can say that he gets on his 'bad side'.  Now as to Glorfindel, that is another matter altogether.

Vocabulary

Noro lim!—Ride quickly!

Having vented his ire over the ill treatment his hat had received, Gandalf had returned to his usual self, a mixture of firmness and kindness that seemed unique to the wizard.  As he and Anomen walked along the road, they once again came abreast of the Barrow-Downs, where they had earlier turned aside to enter the Old Forest.   Gandalf saw the elfling looking at the barrows with curiosity.

"I would like to rest, and you, I am sure, want to explore a bit.  You may wander about the Barrow-Downs, if you wish—I trust you will not venture all the way to the Old Forest, however!"

"Oh, no, Gandalf.  Indeed I will not."

"See that you don't.  I dislike the thought of having to ask Tom Bombadil to rescue you twice in one century.  'Twould make me seem like a poor caretaker in the extreme!"

Anomen kept his word not to go near the Old Forest.  He amused himself by running and singing as he went from barrow to barrow.  He climbed up several of the mounds and looked about.  It was an odd place, green with life and yet filled with memories of the dead.  He climbed down from one barrow and stood gazing in at the entrance.  That is where Gandalf found him when he arose from his rest.

"Gandalf, may I go in and look about?"

"These are burial places of Men long gone.  Are you not afraid of barrow-wights?"

"I do not fear the Dead," said Anomen simply (LOTR book version: ROTK V.2).

Mithrandir looked at him and nodded.  "Very well."

Wizard and elfling walked in respectful silence into the barrow.  Anomen looked about in awe.  Around them lay many treasures, some of gold, some of silver, copper, and bronze: circlets and rings, chains and jeweled ornaments, swords and shields and knives.  The elfling picked up a gleaming dagger and examined it.  It was long, leaf-shaped and keen, of marvelous workmanship, damasked with serpent-forms in red and gold (LOTR book version: FOTR I.8).

"That blade was forged many long years ago by Men of Westernesse, foes of the Dark Lord.  Their descendants, although few in number, still wander the north, sons of forgotten kings walking in loneliness, guarding from evil things folk that are heedless" (LOTR book version: FOTR I.8).

With Gandalf's words, Anomen found the dagger even more fascinating, and he turned it over and over in his hands, studying the ancient words inscribed upon the blade.  At last Gandalf interrupted his ruminations.

"Leave it, Anomen.  You have no need of such a blade, but mayhap later there will come one who does."

Obediently, and reverently, Anomen replaced the dagger, and wizard and elfling resumed their journey.

After the Barrow-Downs, it was not far to Bree, and with several hours of daylight left, Gandalf and Anomen entered the village and made for the Plodding Ploughhorse.  When they crossed the inn's threshold, a beaming Bartholomew Butterbur fair bubbled, so effusive he was in his joy at seeing the two—and Anomen in particular.

"Ah, Master Gandalf, you're back, and young Leif is with you—safe and sound, just as Master Gold hoped—oh, I am glad!"

Anomen suspected that he would not be 'safe and sound' very long, for he spotted 'Master Gold' bearing down upon them, his face stern, his hands clenched.  But just as the elf-lord reached them, Gandalf flung his arm around Anomen's shoulder and said to Butterbur, "I must thank you, Master Butterbur, for sending Leif after me.  He has been a great help.  Hauled water, fetched sticks, mended my cloak, washed my hose—yes, he has been invaluable."

"Oh-oh-ah," stammered Butterbur, "I'm glad you found him a useful servant, ah, aren't we?" he finished lamely, turning to Master Farmer, who had just trotted up, tray in hand.  "Actually, 'twas Master Farmer sent 'im after you, in't that so?"

"What?  Oh, yes.  Right you are, Bartholomew."

"Ah, then it is you to whom I owe thanks, Master Farmer.  I was glad to keep the lad by my side, so handy he turned out to be."

Muttering something that sounded very much like _Curses!  Foiled again!_, Glorfindel turned away in disgust.  Gandalf winked at the elfling, who exhaled in relief.  The day of reckoning was postponed, if not forestalled altogether.

Wizard, Elf, and elfling supped that night in Glorfindel's room, Gandalf and Glorfindel at the table, and Anomen once more perched on the edge of a bed with plate balanced on his knees.  It was by turns a merry and a sober meal.  In spite of himself, Glorfindel was in the end reduced to laughter by Gandalf's droll account of Anomen's adventures.  But wizard and elf-lord quickly became grave as Glorfindel reported on the attempt of the Southrons to recruit allies amongst the Men of Bree-land.

"So, as far as you know, the entire band of Southrons has been slain?"

"Yes.  Since returning to Bree, I have neither seen nor heard no sign that would suggest that any remain."

"But these Men of Bree-land—they are still in place.  Hmmm."

Gandalf reached for the wine bottle.  It was empty.

"Ah, Anomen, Leif you must be for a little while longer.  Run down and fetch another bottle of wine—oh, and one of those excellent fruit pies, if you please."

That latter item was of great interest to Anomen, and he hastened to fulfill the wizard's behest.  Unfortunately, and for the second time, he was thus to miss hearing a discussion of Will Ferny, Hugo the Smith, Andrew of the Circus, and Bræd the Dour Reeve.   By the time he had returned with wine and pie, Gandalf and Glorfindel had moved on to other matters. 

After the three of them had devoured the pie and drained the bottle of wine—Gandalf, truth be told, drinking the greater part of it—wizard, Elf, and elfling were more than ready for sleep.

Glorfindel invited Gandalf to share his room for the night.

"There are only two beds," said Gandalf.  "What of Anomen?"

"We can ask Butterbur to put down a pallet in that corner there, or if he has laid out all the pallets for the night, Anomen can sleep in my bed.  He's skinny enough."

Anomen did not want to spend the night in such close proximity to the balrog-slayer—he knew that he would be too terrified to sleep!

"If you please, Lord Glorfindel, I slept in the hayloft whilst you were gone.  My blankets are no doubt out there still."

"In the hayloft?  Butterbur said that he would lay a pallet for you in his own room.  How came you to sleep in the hayloft?"

"I asked if I might—so I could look after the packhorse!"

Glorfindel looked at him suspiciously.

"So you looked after the packhorse, did you?"

"Yes, and helped feed and water the other horses every morning."

"Indeed.  And what chore did you escape in exchange for such helpfulness?"

"Um, emptying chamberpots."

Gandalf laughed heartily, and Glorfindel joined him after a minute, although he shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"Very well, Anomen.  You may sleep in the hayloft."

Anomen stood up and gathered the dishes on a tray to take down with him.  As he made for the door, Gandalf called after him.

"I shall say goodbye to you now, Anomen, for I mean to get an early start in the morning.  I will be following the Greenway south and then heading west to Isengard.  Shall I give your regards to Saruman, who was so kind to you?"

"Uh, yes, of course, Gandalf.  Will you return to Imladris afterward?"

"Possibly.  I may journey to Lothlórien first."

"Goodbye then, Gandalf.  Stay well."

"And you, too, elfling."

With that Anomen carried the tray down to the kitchen and went to the stable.  The stable master said that he was indeed welcome to his old place in the hayloft, and, yes, no one had touched his things.  The master was sitting on a crate, sharing pint and gossip with a Man that Anomen had not seen before.

"This here is Will Ferny, boy."

"Good e'en to you, sir," Anomen said politely.

Will Ferny stared at him with amusement, but Anomen for some reason did not like his smile.

"Such a polite lad you be," said the Man mockingly.  "Where did you learn such manners—at the table of a king!?"

This was too near the mark for Anomen's comfort.  He excused himself and climbed into the hayloft.  For some time he lay listening to the Men's conversation.  Will Ferny must have been a horse fancier, for he was filled with questions about the various horses that were stabled at the inn.  He seemed particularly impressed by the elven horses—although, of course, he could not know that they were indeed elven steeds.

"Oh, yes," said the stable master, "those are fine beasts indeed"—_beasts! _thought Anomen indignantly—"but that one there, it can only be tended and ridden by Master Gold.  The other two are tractable enough."

At last Anomen wearied of their talk of horses and fell into a deep sleep.

When Anomen awoke, it was still several hours before dawn.  He heard the sound of horses nervously snorting and stomping in their stalls.  What could be troubling them?  He'd best see.  He pulled on his boots and leaped lightly to the floor below.  When he drew himself erect, he was surprised to see two strange Men in the center of the stable.  What were they doing there at this time of night?  Then he saw a third Man come out from one of the stalls leading a horse—his horse!

Even Elves need time to react, and Anomen had none.  One of the Men had seized him by the wrist just as he realized that these Men were horse thieves.

""Ere now," growled the Man, "wot's this?" 

 "That's a Hobbit you've got there, Bræd," grunted another one of the Men.

"Dunno, Andrew," said the Man holding his wrist—Bræd, apparently.  "Kinda skinny for a Hobbit.  A little taller than most Hobbits, too."

"That's no Hobbit," sneered the third Man.  "Lookit his feet."

"Waddabout 'em, Hugo?" said Andrew.

"He's wearing boots," replied Hugo. "Y'ever see a Hobbit wearing boots?"

Hugo stepped close and pushed back Anomen's hair.  "Pointed ears."

Andrew echoed him.  "Pointed ears—I told you, Hobbit."

Hugo shook his head.  "Too skinny and a bit tall for a Hobbit, wears boots, pointed ears—this here's an Elf."

Bræd and Andrew gasped, and Braed tightened his grip on Anomen's wrist.  "An Elf!  He'll make our fortune," he gloated.

Hugo shot him an angry look.  "Hush!  You'll frighten the poor wee creature.  Loose him."

"What!?"

"You heard me.  Let go his hand, the poor little Elf."

Bræd did as he was told.  Relieved, Anomen rubbed his wrist as the three Men stood in a circle around him.  Now that these Men knew that he was an Elf, they were not going to hurt him.  They must not be particularly wicked Men.  Perhaps they had been taking his horse merely by mistake.

"Now then," said Hugo, pointing to himself and speaking slowly in the Common Speech, "my name is Hugo.  This," he said, again pointing, "is Bræd, and that is Andrew."

Anomen had already gathered their names, but he was grateful that Hugo was taking care to make sure that he could understand them.

"My name is Anomen," he said, smiling.

"Anomen.  Good.  Anomen, it is hard to judge the age of an Elf, but you do not look very old."

"That is true.  I am an elfling in the eyes of my people."

"An elfling."  Hugo nodded.  "Why were you sleeping in a hayloft, Anomen?  Are you lost?  Are your parents hereabouts, but you cannot find them?"

"I do not have parents."

"You are abandoned then?"

"No, I have been traveling with a companion."

"A companion?"

"Yes."

"Ah, that is good to know."  Hugo suddenly seized Anomen and spun him about.  Before the elfling had time to collect his wits, Hugo had grabbed hold of both his wrists.

"Bræd, you are right.  He'll make our fortune.  There's only one other Elf about.  Bind him fast."

Anomen recovered his voice.  "But it is Glorfindel the balrog-slayer!  He will have your heads!"

The three Men laughed.

"No, I mean it.  He really will have your heads!"

"Stop his noise," commanded Hugo.  Bræd approached Anomen with a gag in his hand.  Anomen lashed out with his only free limbs, his legs, but Hugo yanked him backward and threw him to the ground.  Andrew sat on the elfling until Bræd had both gagged him and tied his ankles.  Then all three Men stood up and looked with satisfaction upon their captive.

Gloated Andrew, "Now we can bring both news and a prisoner to the Southrons.  They will double the reward."

"Oh, at the very least," said Bræd.  "Who would have thought that spying would be such good business!"

"We do have to get to Weathertop before we collect our reward," Hugo reminded them.  "Let us hasten to make off with these horses—no, leave that one—Will Ferny said that it is unmanageable by anyone except its master."

After the Men had roped together all the horses save Glorfindel's, they turned their attention to loading up their 'loot'.

"Andrew," ordered Hugo, "fetch that sack.  Over his head with it.  Now let us bind him on that packhorse like, well, like a pack, and let us hurry away before it is discovered that he and the horses are missing.  Will Ferny shall have plied the gatekeeper with enough beer by now so that even should this 'pack' squirm no notice will be taken of it!"

Will Ferny had done his job well.  The three horse thieves—and now kidnappers—rode through the gate without being challenged.  Hugo stopped to slip a purse to Will Ferny.

"There will be more when we return," he whispered.  "See that you send astray any who might search after the horses—or anything else for that matter."

Once the thieves were out of sight of the village, they stopped long enough for Andrew to loose Anomen from the sack.

"You'll be no good to us if you suffocate," said Hugo with evil jocularity.  "Andrew, untie his ankles."

For a moment, hope sprang up in Anomen's breast.  If his feet were left free, he had only to wait for the opportune moment to make a break for it.  If he could scramble into cover of a thicket, he was sure he could elude his captors.

Ai!  Andrew immediately lifted him up before Hugo.  At Hugo's direction, Andrew tied a rope around one of Anomen's ankles, passed the rope underneath the horse's belly, and tied the end to his other ankle.  With Anomen thus secured, they galloped eastward at a rapid pace, every moment taking Anomen nearer to the Southrons who would bear him to the dreaded realm of the Haradrim.  He struggled futilely against his bonds.  Hugo laughed.

"Save your energy, elfling.  You will need it to serve your Southron master."

Anomen shivered.  Hugo laughed again.  It was not a pleasant sound.

"Do not fear, little elfling.  Maybe you will be bought by a good master who will only beat you once a week!"

That morning Glorfindel arose early to briefly keep Gandalf company as he set out on his journey.  When he returned to the Plodding Ploughhorse, it was to find the inn in an uproar.

"Oh, Master Gold," gasped Butterbur, "dreadful news! dreadful!  All the horses have been stolen save your own—and your boy's gone missing—we think kidnapped, we do!  The gatekeeper says that he does remember Hugo, Andrew, and Bræd, those men I told you of, leaving before dawn with a string of horses."

"And the lad was with them?"

"He saw no boy, but when pressed, he did recollect as to how one of the packhorses was laden with a large sack—big enough to fit a boy.  The stable master says he'd given the lad leave to sleep in the hayloft last night.  The poor boy must have stumbled across the thieves—or been stumbled across himself.  Oh," wailed Butterbur, "The lad's nowhere to be found—whatever other explanation could there be!?"

Whatever indeed, thought Glorfindel grimly.  He suspected at once that the kidnappers would head toward Weathertop, and he feared that Anomen's life would be forfeit if the Men reached the hill and discovered that there was no one to whom they could sell the elfling.

"Master Butterbur, I must leave at once.  Here is something for your trouble," he said, tossing a bag of coins to the hosteller.

"But your things, Master Gold.  Don't you want to gather your things?"

"Nay, Master Butterbur.  Put aside our belongings for Longshanks.  He'll know how to find us."

"You must eat and drink something, Master Gold!  You'll need strength if you mean to pursue those Men and take them on!"

"Something I can eat in the saddle, if you please—and quickly!"

Butterbur put his alacrity to good use, and minutes later Glorfindel was galloping down the Great East Road in search of the place where Aragorn had turned off to gain the track that had taken them to the Midgewater Marshes.  Secrecy was once again of paramount importance.  The elf-lord would have to approach Weathertop from the north, for he was sure that if he were spotted, Anomen would be slain.

 Hugo and his Men, unaware that they were being pursued, were nonetheless urging their horses onward at a rapid pace in their eagerness to claim their reward.

"Oh, we'll be rich, we will," gloated Bræd.  "I shall have fine clothes and fine food and fine drink and fine women."

Hugo hooted.  "There are no fine women in Bree-land!"

"Then I'll leave Bree-land!" Bræd shot back defiantly.  "I'll travel to Gondor, that I will!"

"And I," proclaimed Andrew, "will get my own back, oh, yes, we will, won't we!"

"What will you do, Hugo?" asked Bræd.

"I won't live extravagantly, you may be sure of that.  I don't wish to draw attention to myself, for I like the life of a spy, and I mean to continue in the service of the Southrons.  No fine clothes for me, although I do mean to enjoy fine food and fine drink on the sly.  As for fine women, I'll settle for any women I can get hereabouts, even though the pickings be slim."

"But not the women," leered Andrew.

The three Men laughed with wicked glee.  As for Anomen, he sat listening miserably as the Men planned how to spend the proceeds from his sale.  No fine food or fine drink or fine clothes in his future ('fine women' were of course of no interest to an elfling of his age).  He could only hope that Glorfindel would come after him—but, he thought unhappily, would the elf-lord even bother, so much trouble had he caused him!

That elf-lord was encountering more of that trouble at the very moment, for he was slogging through the Midgewater Marshes.  With no Ranger along, Glorfindel was the sole item on the menu of the midges.  But he cared not.  For his purposes, the Midgewater Marshes were on the route that would put him in the best position to rescue Anomen, midges and any other discomforts be damned!  So he rode on without rest, traversing the boggy terrain even more quickly than he had when Aragorn had been his guide.

As Glorfindel was emerging from the Midgewater Marshes, the Men and their captive were ascending Weathertop on foot, having left their horses at the base.  Hugo had noticed that no smoke arose from the summit, but he dismissed that fact.  It was early; mayhap the Southrons had not yet arisen.  He also dismissed the fact that they saw no horses.  No doubt the Southrons had moved them to fresh pasture.

But when the Men and their prisoner stepped into the circle of stones at the top of Weathertop, they saw that the hill was deserted.  The fire ring was cold and had obviously not been used in several days.  No Southrons, no sign of their weapons and packs.  But the ground and stones were stained with a deep rusty brown.

"What's that there?" asked Bræd nervously, pointing at one of the rusty blotches in the soil.

"What does it look like, you fool?" growled Hugo.

"Dried blood—but whose, I wonder?"

"Oh, I wouldn't wonder," said Hugo sarcastically, shoving Anomen to the ground and advancing further into the circle.  "You don't see any Southrons about, do you?"

The Men stared at each other in frustration and anger.

"Now what do we do with this wretched elf-brat?" grumbled Andrew.  "We've wasted our food on him, but now we can hope for no return from the Southrons.  We shall have to let him go, I suppose."

"We could use him as a servant ourselves," suggested Bræd.  "Then this expedition will not have been a total loss."

"Nay," said Hugo.  "He'll forever be trying to run off.  He'd cause more work for us than he'd save."

"Then let us leave him here to find his own way home," said Andrew.

"Nay," protested Bræd.  "'Twould be murder!  He'd starve."

"And what is wrong with murder?" said Hugo coldly.  "Although mayhap it would be kinder to do the deed outright.  He drew his knife and fingered it.

Andrew and Bræd looked at Hugo in horror.  They were not so far gone as he in wickedness.

Hugo smirked at them.  "You mislike the idea of murder?  Not if there is another way?  Very well.  We shall ourselves journey to Harad.  Indeed, our profit will be all the greater if we sell the elfling ourselves.  We need no middlemen to take their cut of the proceeds!"

Andrew and Bræd looked uneasily at each other.  Harad!

"You do not like that idea?  Very well."

Hugo strode over to where a terrified Anomen crouched.  The Man yanked him to his feet by the hair and pressed the knife to his throat.

"Wait!" shouted Bræd.  "We will go to Harad!"

Hugo sneered.  "So tender-hearted you are.  Although some would argue that a quick death would be preferable to a life of slavery among the Haradrim.  But you have chosen, and we will be the richer by it.  Let us depart."  He kicked Anomen.

"As for you," he snarled, "I begin to tire of having to drag you about.  You'd best hope that we make good time to Harad."

He kicked him again.  Anomen fell, and Hugo pulled him up once more by the hair.

"Andrew, rummage about and find me the longest piece of rope that you can.  Yes, that will do.  Toss it to me."

Hugo tied one end of this rope tightly around Anomen's neck.  Then he unbound Anomen's wrists.

"Now, listen closely.  You'll have to work for your supper from now on.  This rope round your neck, I'm going to keep hold of this end of it, so don't think of trying to run off.  If you attempt it, I'll tie the rope to my horse's pommel, and you'll have to run all the way to Harad—and the Dark Lord help you if you fall!"

The three Men and the elfling climbed back down to the base of Weathertop, Hugo in his ill-humor yanking on the rope ever so often.  Once at the base, Hugo handed the rope to Andrew and mounted the horse.  Andrew then lifted Anomen up.  As before, he sat before Hugo, who wrapped the rope several times around his own waist.  Andrew and Bræd mounted their own horses, and they set out again, this time heading south.

Anomen's hands and feet were now free, but he did not see how that would do him any good.   Unless Glorfindel were to find him, he thought in his despair, it would be his ill fate to live out his life in thrall to a Haradrim master.  With any luck, the Valar would take pity on him and revoke the gift of eternal life so that he would not suffer a slavery that would have no end.

The Men and their prisoner rode off toward the south as Glorfindel, having climbed up from the north, breasted the summit.  He glanced quickly about and saw from the tracks that the hill had been visited since he and Aragorn had skirmished with the Southrons—and one set of footprints were those of a smallish Elf.  He saw no fresh blood.  The Men had been there and departed, their captive still alive.  South was the only possible direction they could take if they still wished to profit from the sale of Anomen.  Glorfindel sprang to that side of the stone circle and peered out anxiously.  There, just there, was that not a party of horsemen entering into a copse not so far distant?  Aye, so it was!

Glorfindel scrambled back down to the base of the hill and retrieved his horse.  He prayed that the Men were making camp in that copse, for although Anomen was still alive, the elf-lord doubted that he was being well-treated.

Ai! Glorfindel's fears were well justified.  Hugo's ill-temper did not improve.  When they reached the copse and dismounted, Hugo kicked Anomen's leg when he ordered him to fetch sticks for a fire and kicked him again when he commanded him to haul water.  Every demand that was placed upon Anomen was accompanied by a kick, and all too often a yank on the rope around his neck as well.  Soon the elfling was limping, and at last he could no longer keep his feet.  He staggered and fell upon the ground.

"You lazy elf-brat, get up and scour those pots," snarled Hugo, advancing upon the helpless young elf.  Anomen flung his arms over his head and tried to curl up in a ball, but Hugo kicked him in the chest.  Anomen heard a cracking noise and suddenly could hardly breathe.

 "Hugo, that's enough!" cried Bræd.  "You said we were to sell him and make our fortunes.  He won't be worth even a pittance if you don't leave off kicking him!"

"Aye!" shouted Andrew.  "I expect some return on our investment of time and money, and you'll rob it of me.  Stick to slapping him, why don't you!"

"Oh, very well," grumbled Hugo, irked at being deprived of his amusement.  "I suppose that's enough for one day, and tomorrow I'll just knock him about a bit.  If you _gentlemen don't object, that is," he added sarcastically.  "I suppose it's best to tie his hands and ankles again for the night—though I mean to keep the rope around his neck as well."_

While this conversation was taking place, Glorfindel was creeping through the thicket.  He reached the little clearing that was the Men's campsite just in time to see Hugo finish trussing Anomen, pulling the knots as tight as he could.  When the Man had finished with that, he yanked the elfling's hair and spit upon his face .

 That was enough for Glorfindel.  He broke cover and advanced on the three Men.  "I will have your heads," he growled.

Hugo was momentarily taken aback, but the Man was nothing if not brazen.  He recovered in an instant and sneered at the balrog-slayer.  "There is only one of you.  Bræd, Andrew, let us fatten our profits by capturing this one as well."

A few seconds later, Hugo's head went flying into the trees.  Bræd and Andrew gaped, dropped their swords, and betook their own heads into the thicket before Glorfindel could do it for them.  The balrog-slayer knelt beside the elfling and ungagged him.

"Anomen, are you hurt in any way?"

"No, Glorfindel," Anomen lied.

"Good.  Then I shall skin you," said Glorfindel calmly as he untied Anomen's wrists.  "There.  You can manage your ankles.  I'll go fetch the horses."

When Glorfindel returned with their horses, he found that Anomen, his fingers shaking, had been unable to free his ankles.  Suddenly concerned, the elf-lord knelt beside the elfling and gently lowered him to the ground, placing his rolled-up cloak under his head as a pillow.  He saw that the elfling was having difficulty breathing and pushed up his tunic.  When he saw the bruise upon his chest, he regretted that Andrew and Bræd had escaped unscathed.  Anomen divined his feelings.

"It was Hugo who beat me, not those other two."

That mattered little to the elf-lord, but he consoled himself with the thought that the two had run off into the wild without any provisions.  Mayhap they would starve.  Whatever became of them, no one ever did know.  Perhaps they did perish in the wilderness; perhaps they continued southward and joined the Dunlendings.  Perhaps they fled even further south and came at last to Harad.

One thing was certain, though: their accomplice, Will Ferny, remained in Bree, and a descendant, one Bill Ferny, lived there still as the Third Age drew to a close.

For the moment, however, Glorfindel quickly dismissed those miscreants from his mind.  He added more sticks to the fire that the Men had abandoned, and he placed their kettle upon it.  Then he went in search of athelas.  When the water was boiling, he cast the leaves into it.  He helped Anomen up and brought him to sit near the fire.  He pulled Anomen's hood far forward so that it tented over the steam that, smelling of athelas, began to arise from the kettle.

"Breathe deeply," he ordered the elfling.  Anomen obeyed and after a little while his chest did not hurt so badly.

When the water had cooled, Glorfindel scooped the leaves out of the kettle and used them to make a poultice that he spread over Anomen's chest.  He then bound the elfling's chest tightly with strips that he tore from one of the Men's abandoned blankets.

"I think it would be best if we returned to Rivendell as quickly as possible.  I know that you will be uncomfortable on a horse, but bear with the pain—in the end you shall heal all the faster; for you will be under Elrond's care, and he has a great stock both of herbs and wisdom."

"Glorfindel," said Anomen, his voice trembling.  "I did not run away.  Please do not think that I did!"

"I know you did not run away," said Glorfindel kindly.  "Do not trouble yourself; what happened was not your fault."

Glorfindel had loosed the Bree horses that had been stolen by the Men.  (Most of them made their way back to Bree in the end.)  Now the elf-lord wrapped Anomen carefully in his cloak and lifted him onto his own horse and then mounted behind him to hold him steady.  He would trust the two other elven horses to follow behind.

Glorfindel tried to be gentle, but Anomen winced nonetheless as the elf-lord's horse broke into a trot.  It would be best, Glorfindel knew, if Anomen slept away the journey, and the balrog-slayer began to sing to the elfling such songs as he remembered from his own youth during the First Age.  Gradually Anomen relaxed, and from his even breathing Glorfindel knew that he slept.  He looked down at the young Elf cradled in his arms.

Anomen slept with his eyes closed, in the manner of an Elf gravely ill or injured.

"Noro lim!" Glorfindel begged his horse.  "NORO LIM!"


	10. The Council Of Elrond

**Folks, I start this story with sentence fragments, but I've got a reason for doing so.  Let me know if it works.**

_Kitsune__: True, there's a lot of potential for a story set during the LOTR.  Hmm._

_Ky_: _Glorfindel has a compassionate side; otherwise, I don't think he'd be a true Elf._

_Jebb__: I'm glad you like tension intermingled with humor._

_MoroTheWolfGod__: It is true that Elrond is not happy with the outcome of Glorfindel's mission._

_Farflung__: Hey, don't forget Anomen was nekkid when he went swimming with the Hobbits!  You didn't read any mention of a bathing suit there, did you?  Seriously, I love that Oscar Wilde quotation, and I'm going to put it into Gandalf's mouth when I revise the previous chapter._

_Karri: _Right—Elrond will _not_ be pleased.

_Dragonfly: _I'm not a fan of pain and gore for the sake of pain and gore, so I put in only the details necessary to establish that Anomen's life was in very real danger.

_Joee__: Three reviews in a row.  I am impressed._

Vocabulary

Adar, Ada—'father', 'papa'

barzum—'darkness' (Black Speech)

elleth—'Elf maid'

Istar—'wizard' (singular of Istari)

Maiar—'good spirits' (plural of Maia)

Mandos—'Dread Imprisoner' (a name for the Vala Námos, the 'Judge' of souls)

mellon-nîn—my friend

Naneth, Nana—'mother', 'mama'

pen-neth—'young one'

A voice singing.  Soft.  Melodious.

_Nana?___

Anomen struggled to force his eyes open.

Golden hair.  Blue eyes.

"Nana?" he whispered painfully.

"Shhh," soothed the voice.  "Don't try to speak."

"Nana?"

Anomen tried to push himself up on his elbows.

"Shhh.  Lie still."

A hand gently pushed him back onto the pillow.  Exhausted, he closed his eyes again.

A voice talking.  A deeper voice.  What was it saying?  He couldn't make sense of it.

_Halloo?  Halloo?  Halloo-sin-ate?  Halloo-sin-eight?_

That didn't make sense.  Anomen tried again.

_Hall-loose-in-eight-shun?__ Hall-loose-in-nation?_

Anomen wearily gave up trying to understand the voice.

Another voice, again a deep one, but different from the other.

"He will return to himself once the fever goes down."

_Return to himself?  Have I left myself? Is this the Hall of Mandos?  Is that golden-haired elleth my Naneth?_

The bed slowly levitated and turned upside down.  Anomen clutched the blankets tightly to keep from tumbling from the mattress.  A cool, wet cloth came to rest on his forehead—odd that the cloth did not fall to the ground.  Gradually the bed rotated until it was upright again, but it did not sink down onto the floor.  Instead, it began to spin about like a leaf caught in an eddy.  Anomen squeezed his eyes shut even tighter and fought the sensation of nausea.  The cloth disappeared but soon reappeared, once again cool and wet.  The bed stopped spinning, but it rocked slightly.  If only it would settle back upon the floor!  Again the cloth disappeared and reappeared.  The bed stopped rocking, and at last it came to rest upon a solid surface.  Anomen cautiously opened his eyes.

Elrond and Mithrandir stood by his head, leaning over him.  Galadriel sat on the bed, one hand tenderly stroking his forehead, the other holding a damp cloth.  Erestor and Glorfindel gazed anxiously at him from the foot of the bed, and Lord Celeborn stood by the window regarding him gravely.

_I've returned from the Hall of Mandos.  But why is a council being held in my room?  Strange place for a council.  And where is Thranduil?  Was he not summoned to the council?_

"Where is the King of Greenwood?" gasped Anomen.

Elrond looked distressed.

"I did not think to summon him!" he exclaimed to the others.  "Do you want me to send for him?" he said gently to Anomen.

Anomen looked at him in bewilderment.  Why should Elrond ask him whom he should summon to a council?  He tried to gather his wits so that he could reply sensibly.

"If you wish, Lord Elrond," he said with an effort.  "I thought that when you hold a council you invite a representative from each realm."

Now it was Elrond's turn to look perplexed.  "Council?"

Mithrandir spoke.  "As I said, he has been hallucinating."

"This is no council," said Elrond, smiling.  "I sent a messenger to Lothlórien to beg for Galadriel's aid, for I feared your injury was past my skill to heal, and the Lady, too, is a healer of sorts.  Mithrandir was fortunately visiting the Lord and Lady and accompanied them as they made haste to cross the Misty Mountains."

"Not a council?"

"No, unless you wish to consider it a council of healers."

Anomen felt a little silly.

"Do not feel foolish, young one," said Galadriel, as usual divining what was in his mind.  "You have been very sick, and a feverish person can hardly be expected to think clearly."

            Elrond spoke again.  "It is true that this is no council, Anomen, but would you like us to send for Thranduil nonetheless?"

            "No," said Anomen miserably.  "I doubt that he would want to be troubled over me."

            "Are you sure of that, Anomen?"

            "No, but I, well, I don't _want_ to be sure!"

            "Very well, Anomen, but whenever you become desirous of—"

            "No!" interrupted Erestor vehemently, "such decisions of import should not to be left to elflings!  We should send for Thranduil whether or no Anomen wishes it!"

            Elrond replied just as vehemently.  "What if Thranduil does _not want to be troubled!?  Such a discovery would be devastating."_

"We must find a way to assay the king's feelings on the matter," suggested Celeborn, raising his voice in order to be heard.

This was dreadful!  Anomen squeezed his eyes shut and covered his ears with his hands.

"Stop!" bellowed Glorfindel.  "You are upsetting the pen-neth, you-you-sorry excuses for Elves!  If you do not fall silent at once, I shall-I shall-I shall do something," he finished lamely.

Surprised at the balrog-slayer's outburst, everyone fell silent.  Mithrandir cleared his throat.

"Perhaps," he said mildly, "we should retire to Elrond's chamber and have, ah, a more congenial discussion over wine and some of those excellent fruit pastries that the Head Cook is so proud of—equaled only, I must say, by the fruit pies served in a certain hostelry in the village of Bree."

Galadriel smiled.  Only Mithrandir spoke so, mixing the wise and the whimsical.

"I think," she said softly, "that Mithrandir is right.  Anomen needs to rest and should not be subjected to our differences of opinion.  But he should not be left alone."

"He will not be," said Elrond.  He called out, "Scamp one and scamp two, come out from behind those statues where you have been hiding just outside this chamber."

Elladan and Elrohir materialized in the doorway.

"Will you sit with Anomen awhile—but that is a silly question, is it not?"

"Yes, Ada!" the twins chorused, and then both blushed.

"We didn't mean that you were asking a silly question, Ada!" stammered Elladan.

Elrond smiled.  "I know.  I was just having a bit of fun with you.  Entertain Anomen and fetch anything he needs—but do not overexcite him," the elf-lord warned.

"We will not," Elrohir promised solemnly.

When their elders had left, the twins carefully climbed up on the bed, one on each side.

"You have been having adventures without us," said Elrohir a trifle accusingly.

"I do not think you would have wanted this adventure," said Anomen faintly.

"Really?  But it wasn't all bad, was it?  I heard Mithrandir say you had gone into the Old Forest, and"—Elrohir lowered his voice—"Ada said a very bad word when Mithrandir told him that."

"What did he say!?" asked Elladan eagerly.

Both Elladan and Anomen strained to hear as Elrohir looked about guiltily and lowered his voice even further.  "He said—'burzum'!"

"No!" gasped Elladan and Anomen.  The Lord of Imladris had said—that word—in the Black Speech.  The three elflings shivered.  Oh, this was delightful!

All three elflings jumped as the door opened.  It was the Head Cook.

"Master Mithrandir asked me to bring you some fruit pastries—although you two," he said to Elladan and Elrohir, "have probably already stolen more than your share!"

"Thank you, Master Cook," said the elflings politely.

Anomen realized that he was hungry—as well he might be, for he had lain unconscious for days.  Elladan and Elrohir held off eating until their friend had had his fill.  Fortunately, the Master Cook had really been quite generous, and there was plenty for all.

After their hunger had been satisfied, Anomen told the twins more about his adventures.  They were particularly fascinated by anything he could tell them about Hobbits, for Mithrandir's tales about the Shire had piqued their curiosity.

"So they actually do have curly hair all over their feet—I thought Mithrandir was teasing us," said Elladan.

"Yes, they do, and we are already taller than the biggest of Hobbits!"

"But they have pointed ears like us?"

"Yes, but mine are pointier than Merry's!"

"Merry?"

"One of the Hobbits.  His name was Merimac, but nobody calls him that."

"These Hobbits sound like great fun," observed Elrohir.  "They really tied up your clothes whilst you were swimming?"

"Yes, dozens of knots—first rate workmanship, too."

Elrohir looked thoughtful.

"But," Anomen added hastily, "that's really rather an unoriginal prank, don't you think?"

"Oh, I don't know about that," said Elrohir slowly.

Wonderful, thought Anomen.  He sighed.  Elrohir and Elladan became instantly solicitous.

"Are we tiring you?" asked Elladan anxiously.

"Oh, no," Anomen reassured them.  "I can talk a little longer, I think."

"I hope I can visit Shire someday," said Elrohir longingly.

"The Shire.  Yes, it is a lovely place.  Mithrandir is very fond of it, and I can see why.  He said something odd, though, as we left Buckland.  He stood still for a moment, with a faraway look in his eyes, and muttered a few words—it sounded like 'Something wicked this way comes'.  When I asked him what he meant, he brushed me off—said that it was an old habit of his to always talk to the wisest present."

"That's just Mithrandir's way—he always talks in riddles," said Elladan.

 "Oh, all elders are like that," added Elrohir.  "They never explain themselves fully."

"Erestor does," giggled Elladan.  The three elflings laughed.  Indeed, it was true that Erestor always explained himself _quite fully—what year this battle was fought, how many warriors were on each side, which king signed what treaty, where that treaty was signed, how many barrels of wine were imported from what realm.  They supposed that this was why he was their tutor in the first place._

"But Mithrandir is worse than most," insisted Anomen after they had stopped giggling.

"Of course," said Elrohir grandly.  "Mithrandir is an Istar and one of the Maiar.  He came from over the sea, from the Undying Lands."

Elrohir waved vaguely toward the west.

"I should like to visit the sea someday," said Anomen dreamily.

"Our grandmother says that the sea can be perilous to some Elves," warned Elladan.

"What does she mean by that?" asked Anomen.

"I do not know—she did not say."

"See!" said Elrohir triumphantly.  "I told you.  Elders never explain themselves."

"Except for Erestor!" declared Elladan again.

"Agreed.  Except for Erestor."

While this conversation was taking place, the elders in question were having their 'discussion' in Elrond's chamber.  It was a very peculiar debate, because there was an unspoken understanding that the ailing elfling whose welfare so concerned them could not be referred to by any name other than 'Anomen'.  So no one could say outright what they were debating, for that would force them to take the very action that they were debating whether or not _to take.  In a way, the elflings were right: in this debate, these elders never fully explained themselves._

"If Anomen has an Adar, then that Adar should be informed of his whereabouts—and all the more because the elfling is ill," argued Erestor.

"But what if that Adar has forfeited his right to the elfling through neglect?" asked Elrond.

"That has not been proven," Mithrandir pointed out.

"There is a fair amount of traffic between Greenwood and Lothlórien," observed Celeborn.  "Our traders and ambassadors have always reported that at least one Adar in Greenwood seemed to have little time and less regard for his son."

"That is not the same as neglect," Erestor shot back.

"_I see little difference," declared Glorfindel, unexpectedly throwing his weight behind Elrond's position._

"We must not base our decision upon appearances," Galadriel reminded them.  "What may appear to be lack of regard may be something else altogether."

"Then we should do nothing for the time being," argued Elrond.  "We lack sufficient information upon which to judge the father.  Let us leave matters as they are for the time being until we can better know his mind."

It was Elrond's opinion that at last held sway over all other arguments.  For the time being, it was at last agreed, Anomen would remain at Rivendell, under the twin care of Elrond and Mithrandir.

"Well," said that wizard, arising from his seat.  "I shall just stop by Anomen's chamber and let him know that he will not be going to Greenwood just yet."

"Yes," smiled a relieved Elrond.  "Reassure him that he has nothing to fear from the big, bad ogre."

"Elrond," said Galadriel reprovingly, "take care not to poison the elfling's mind against his father with language such as that."

"Oh," deadpanned Mithrandir, "I thought Elrond was referring to Glorfindel."

The tension broken, everyone, even the balrog-slayer, joined in the laughter.

Although Anomen was out of danger and his immediate future had been decided, Celeborn and Galadriel remained in Rivendell for another several months.  Galadriel, in company with Elrond and Mithrandir, continued to tend to the recovering elfling.  Moreover, the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien had not seen their grandchildren in several years and were glad of the chance to visit with them, and particularly with Arwen, whom they had spent the least amount of time with, as she was the youngest.  Arwen was devoted to Galadriel and split her time equally between tagging along after her grandmother and affectionately hovering over her beloved 'Nomie, to whom she brought bunches and bunches of wildflowers.  The flowers, truth be told, always arrived a little wilted, with stems bent, but Anomen didn't care, her kindness touched him so.  Between her visits and those of the twins, who had been excused from lessons for the duration of their grandparents' visit, Anomen was well entertained.  The older Elves stopped in frequently as well, especially Glorfindel, who seemed to feel it necessary to superintend Anomen's care, as if the combined efforts of Mithrandir, Galadriel, and Elrond might somehow be lacking.

The day came, however, when Anomen was permitted to arise from his bed.  And then the day came when he was allowed to leave his room.  At last he rejoined the household for meals, instead of eating from a tray.  Things were getting back to normal.  Mithrandir declared his intention of journeying once again to the Shire, and the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien likewise made plans to depart.  They had a realm for which they were responsible, and it was time to return to it.

"Your holiday will be over now, will it not?" Galadriel said to the elflings with a smile.

Elladan, Elrohir, and Anomen looked at Elrond.  "Will it?" asked Elrohir, his voice full of disappointment.

"Yes, it is time for you to return to your studies with Erestor."  

"Oh, burzum!" complained Elrohir.

"What did you say!?" growled Glorfindel.

"Um, nothing," said Elrohir meekly.

"Wherever did you pick up such language?" said Erestor primly.

"Heard it someplace," mumbled Elrohir.

Mithrandir looked at Elrond and winked.  Elrond tried to look innocent, which was something he had not had to do since the First Age.  He failed woefully, and soon the entire table was laughing at him—the older Elves anyway.  The younger ones were simply relieved that attention had shifted from themselves to the elf-lord.  

A fortnight later, the visitors had departed.  Elrond found himself alone with Glorfindel for the first time since the balrog-slayer had galloped into Rivendell clutching an unconscious, feverish Anomen.  He cleared his throat.

"Glorfindel, I have been meaning to ask you how Anomen came by his injuries."

For once in his life, Glorfindel found himself looking at his feet, unwilling to meet the eyes of Elrond.

"Matters did not go quite as planned."

"Oh?"

"Aragorn and I tracked down and destroyed a band of Southrons."

"And?"

"I slew one Bree-land traitor and put the fear of the Valar into two others."

"And?"

Glorfindel sighed.  Elrond's brevity was to be feared more than his anger.

"As you see, Anomen was injured—but as I promised, I did not lead him into combat!"

"Oh, _that is a consolation!" said Elrond with a sarcastic tone that would have done Glorfindel proud._

Glorfindel looked up and gazed straight into the eyes of his friend.

"I am sorry," he said simply.  "I left him with a Man in Bree when Aragorn and I went in search of the Southrons."

"Leaving Anomen unsupervised is like leaving a toddler alone in a room with a fire!  Even though it is the toddler's legs that will carry him into the flames, it is the caretaker who is to blame."

"Aye, I should have anticipated what would happen next.  Anomen ran off, of course."

"Of course."

"Fortunately, he was following after Mithrandir, who collared him at the earliest opportunity and tried to keep him by his side until my return—although he gave even Mithrandir the slip at least twice, if I may mention that in my own defense!"

"You may."

"Mithrandir brought him back to Bree safe and sound.  That very night, I permitted him to sleep in the stable.  The Bree-land traitors chose that night to make off with the horses, and they stole Anomen into the bargain.  The Southrons to whom they planned to sell him were the ones whom Aragorn and I had slain.  When the traitors discovered that there was no market for stolen elfling, one of them began to treat Anomen very cruelly; thus he was badly injured before I was able to rescue him."

"I see.  Would I be correct in assuming that the traitor who abused Anomen was the one you slew?"

"You would be correct."

"Let me guess: his head is lying somewhere in a thicket."

"Yes, unless the buzzards have already happened upon it.  Elrond, again, I am sorry.  I did not expect any harm to befall Anomen."

"I am at fault as well.  I had no business allowing you to make use of him as means to further your disguise as a trader.  An elfling so young is not to be hazarded on such a mission, even if the risks seem small.  We are lucky Erestor is elsewhere at the moment.  If he were listening to this tale, he would be saying, hah, a caretaker so neglectful has no right to rear a child!"

Elrond smiled wryly, as did Glorfindel.

"Well," sighed the Lord of Imladris, pouring himself and his friend a drink of wine, "the matter is at an end."  He raised his glass in a toast.  "Until the next time, mellon-nîn."

"Aye," echoed the balrog-slayer.  "Until the next time—and there surely will be a next time!"

"Yes," said Elrond, shaking his head.  "There surely will."

**Folks, now I've got to decide which story angle to pursue next.  I've been asked to write (1) another story about elfling Legolas, (2) another one about Legolas as an angsty adolescent, (3) one about Legolas during the timeframe of the LOTR, (4) a tale showing Thranduil's point of view, and (5) a tale featuring Glorfindel.  I've got almost as many possible stories to pursue as Legolas has names!  Any one want to weigh in on the matter?**


End file.
